


It Was Always You

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Minor Raven Reyes/Kyle Wick, Roommates, Sexual Tension, artist!Clarke, especially drunk sexual tension, historynerd!bellamy, minor jasper jordan/maya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr: "We got involved in a fight at a bar and had to spend the night sharing a cell AU".</p><p>Octavia and Raven take Clarke out for a bit of fun.  Clarke ends up punching a random stranger in the face, only to find out the next morning (after sharing a cell with him for the night) that he's Octavia's older brother who's in town for the foreseeable future as a visiting professor at the local university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Clarke wanted everyone to know was that this was  _absolutely_  and  _without a doubt_  not her fault.  She actually wasn’t sure whose fault it actually was since she was, well, too drunk to remember, but it wasn’t hers.  She knew that.

What did she remember?  That was a good question.

The night before Raven had called: “Clarke, I know you’ve been busy a lot lately,” she’d said, “but you really need to take a break.  If you’re not at that club downtown that Octavia likes in thirty minutes or less I’m putting your cell number on the walls of one of the stalls in the men’s bathroom.”

Needless to say that had gotten Clarke into a slinky sparkly dress, heels, and her car pretty quickly.  She knew Raven well enough to know that the girl meant business.

Within thirty minutes of meeting Raven and Octavia outside, Clarke was tipsy and dancing with a handsome redhead whose name had been shouted at her but she couldn’t remember for the life of her.  Raven had been right, she really did need a good healthy dose of fun.

After another hour Clarke was good and drunk, Octavia was peeling margaritas out of her hands while Clarke protested, and Raven was trying to give random guys at the bar Clarke’s number.

Then Octavia was leaving.  Something about having to go pick her brother up at the airport?  Or something.  Clarke knew it was either something about a brother or an airport.  Either could be it really.

Then there was more dancing.  And without Octavia there to take away her drinks, Clarke just kept knocking them back.  Raven got the name of some guy named Kyle.  Or was it Wick?  Wick was a weird name, Clarke had thought at the time.

The next thing Clarke remembered was waking up surrounded by bars.  she had a brief moment of panic before she realized it was just a police holding cell.  That led to another not so brief moment of panic.

She was sharing the cell with a distinctly rumpled and extremely disgruntled looking man who kind of looked familiar but who really knew because her vision was kind of blurry and her head hurt and she kind of just felt like taking a nap.  Oh, and her arm hurt.  And one of her knuckles was bleeding.

The man was distinctively not looking at her, she noticed, and instead was focused on the row of bars in front of them.  He had a bruise on his face, she noticed.  That was strange.  It almost matched up with—

“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered.

The stranger didn’t turn his head but she saw his lips quirk up in a small smile.

“You’ve got quite the right hook for someone your size,” he said quietly after a moment.  “And for someone as drunk as you are.”

“Who are you?” Clarke asked, rubbing her forehead and cursing Raven.

His head fell back against the wall.  “Oh, no one important.”  A pause.  “Just the guy you repeatedly hit in the face.”

She groaned.  “Sorry?”

Another small smile.  “I deserved it.”

She shifted slightly, sending a ricocheting pain down the arm that was aching for some reason.  She lifted her sleeve gingerly and inspected the giant bruise forming there.

“Do I want to know why?” she asked, wary.  Clarke wasn’t normally a very violent person, even when she was drunk.  If this guy had deserved to be punched in the face (and she’d done it repeatedly) he must have really pissed her off.  “You’re not a serial murderer are you?”

A small laugh.  A nice sound she thought through her still kind of drunken haze.

“No,” he said simply.

She waited, wondering if he was going to continue.  Just when she was about to open her mouth to prompt him for more, he continued.

“The friend you were with was off dancing with some guy and someone was harassing you.”  Another long pause.  “I told him to get lost.  You said you could fight your own battles.  I said I was just trying to help. You hit me in the face.” He sighed and shrugged.  “So i grabbed your arm in an attempt to get you to not since you tried to punch me again.  And then you actually did punch me again.  It’ll probably bruise pretty bad.  I am sorry about that.”

 _Jesus Christ_ , Clarke thought.   _This is why I don’t drink_.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it.  I was just looking for my sister anyway.  She was supposed to pick me up at the airport but I think she might have forgotten.”

Something in Clarke’s alcohol-flooded brain was trying to make a connection.  It hurt too much so she stopped thinking about it.

“Well, whatever,” she muttered, sliding over onto her side.  “Good night.”

She fell asleep to the sound of the stranger’s chuckle.

The creak of the hinges swinging open woke Clarke the next morning, ripping through her eardrums with violent abandon.  She had a pounding headache, her mouth felt dry as a desert, and literally every part of her body ached.

“Goddammit, Raven,” she muttered under her breath as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

A bemused looking officer was holding the cell door open.  “You two are free to go,” he told her and the stranger who was already standing and slipping on his jacket.

“Thanks, officer.”

“Not a problem, sir.”  Then to Clarke, “Miss Griffin, are you going to need some help getting up?”

She was still on the floor, Clarke realized.  The stranger was looking behind him with a slight smile on his face and a laughing glint in his eyes.  Clarke felt mortified.

“No, I’ve got it,” she told the officer who had begun to put a hand out for her.

She struggled to her feet, using the wall as a brace.  She almost fell over twice but she did it and that was what mattered.  The stranger she’d punched in the face was already in the front of the precinct, hugging someone who looked suspiciously familiar.

Clarke lurched forward.   _Could it be?_

_“Octavia?”  
_

Octavia spun around, a look of shock on her face.  “Clarke?”

Just then Raven ripped open the precinct’s front door.  She froze two steps in, taking in the scene.  “I feel like I walked in five minutes too late,” she said finally.

Octavia was looking between Mystery Man and Clarke.  “You punched my  _brother_?” Before Clarke could reply (also: her brother?  what?) Octavia had transferred her attention to Clarke’s victim.  “Also, you, Bellamy Blake, what were you doing at the club?”

“Looking for you,” Bellamy explained, sounding exasperated.  “I left you like twelve messages.”

Octavia rubbed her forehead.  “My phone died and I gave it to  _Raven_.”  She rounded on the other girl.  “Where is my phone?”

“Charging on the counter at home, did you not see it?  I left you a note.”  A pause.  “Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Octavia shook her head, smiling.  “Clarke, Raven, this is my older brother Bellamy.  He’s going to be staying in town for a little while.  He’s got the visiting professor position at the university.”  She turned to her brother.  “Bell, this is my roommate Raven and my best friend Clarke.”

“Ah,” Bellamy said.  Nothing else.  Just  _ah_.

Clarke took a step forward and almost fell on her face.  Raven rushed forward to sling an arm over her shoulder.  “I gotcha, Clarke, easy does it.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “Jesus, how much did you drink last night?  You smell awful.”

Clarke shrugged helplessly.  She was still awfully hung up on the fact that she’d repeatedly punched and then slept in a cell in a police precinct overnight with Octavia’s older brother.   _Way to make a first impression, Griffin_ , she thought as Raven helped tow her out the door.

“So!” Octavia said a bit too loudly, making Clarke wince.  “IHOP?  Who’s up for IHOP?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Octavia screeched all the way to IHOP.  There really was no other word for the noises coming out of her mouth.  Clarke thought that knocking head head repeatedly against the window and knocking herself out might hurt less.

If it had just been her, Raven, and Octavia, she might have.  But no, Bellamy was there, too.  Bellamy, Octavia’s brother who she’d punched in the face last night while drunk.  Bellamy, who she’d spent the night in a holding cell with.

Everything was a disaster.  Clarke’s life was a disaster.

This was worse than that whole debacle with Finn.  At least that time she’d gotten Raven out of the deal and had had the chance to do some decent social-media bashing.

Somehow Octavia had roped Bellamy into driving.  They’d left Raven’s car at the precinct with plans to come get it later.  Clarke wondered where her car was.  She had driven herself to the bar last night after all.  She’d have to figure that out later.  Right now all she cared about was crawling into a hole and dying there.

Bellamy was watching her in the rearview mirror, a laughing glint in his eyes.  She’d be lying if she said that wasn’t part of her death wish.

Then they were in the IHOP parking lot, Bellamy was handing Octavia her keys back and then holding the door open for the three girls as they trooped inside.  Clarke was last.

“You all right there, princess?” he asked, a clear joking tone coloring his voice, low enough that the others wouldn’t overhear.

If she hadn’t been the most hungover she’d ever been since her freshman year of college she would have said something snappy and rude.  Instead she just glared at him and slid into the booth across from Raven.

Octavia, the traitor, was sitting next to Raven, her nose already buried in the menu, when Bellamy sidled up.  He chuckled under his breath, shook his head just slightly, and sat down next to Clarke.  Somehow, despite the fact that he’d spent the night in a holding cell he still smelled good.  Like new parchment, and pine trees, and maybe a hint of salt.  Because naturally Octavia had to have an inhumanly attractive older brother who also smelled nice.

Those Blake genes, man.  They were unbelievable.

“So,” Octavia said conversationally, “when she’d put her menu down and crossed her hands over it, “Clarke.”

Clarke groaned.  “What?”

“Have a fun night?”

Clarke’s head thudded back against the booth.  “ _No.”_

“Glad to know that you thought so much of my company, princess,” Bellamy smirked.

“I understand, “Octavia said, “Bell’s a piece of work.”

He must have kicked her under the table because she swore.

“Unladylike, O,” he chastised, that smirk on his face again.

“Oh, fuck you,” Clarke muttered.

He laughed.

Thankfully she was saved from whatever he was going to say next by the appearance of their waiter: an acne-riddled teenager in a shirt that was absolutely the most horrendous shade of maroon Clarke had ever seen in her life.  He looked like he wanted to be there even less than she did.  That was an impressive feat.

“You know what you want?” he asked in a dull, dry, bored voice.

Clarke was already deducting from his tip in her head.

Octavia and Raven ordered their usuals, strawberry vanilla French toast and an omelette with a pancake on the side.  Bellamy ordered chocolate chip pancakes with a side of sausage.  Clarke asked for a waffle and two sides of bacon.

The waiter looked at her funny for a moment then must have noticed the glaring red rims around her eyes and the disheveled nature of her hair.

“Right,” he said.  “Got it.  Coffee?”

Everyone grunted yes to that one.  He was back with a pot and four cups in two minutes, still staring in shock at Clarke.  She wanted to snap at him to cut it out.

At one point she saw Bellamy look between her and their waiter, open his mouth, and then close it.  Her eyes immediately went to the growing bruise on his cheekbone. It must have still hurt.  Obviously he still remembered.

The table was silent except for long sips of coffee.  Clarke was pretty sure nothing had ever tasted this good.

Raven put her cup down with a clatter and leaned forward into the table.  “Why is everyone acting like someone died?”

Octavia coughed.  “Because Bell’s self-esteem is a small child?  And easily stunted?”

“ _Octavia!”_

“See?  Diva.”

Clarke snorted.  Bellamy glared at her.

“Come on, Bell,” Octavia said good-naturedly.  “You’re almost 30.  There’s no reason to still be acting like a child.”

“Oh,  _I’m_  a child?” he demanded. “What about you, Miss I’m So High Maintenance I’d Give the Queen a Run for Her Money?”

“That’s kind of rude,” Raven declared.

“I’m sorry?” Bellamy rounded on her next.  “I think I have the right to say what I want to my si-”

“Oh, I’m not talking about Octavia.  You’re right, she is.  Nightmarish. I live with her, I understand.”

Octavia elbowed her.  Raven shoved her.  Octavia almost fell out of the booth.  The pair of 80 year olds sitting at the table next to theirs directed matching death glares in their direction.

“Then what’s your point?” Bellamy was clearly going for good-natured but it came out tense.

“You’ve never met the Queen,” Clarke deadpanned to the sticky bottle of blueberry syrup in the middle of their table.  “You can’t call her high maintenance if you’ve never met her.  Anyway, I’ve heard she’s a delightful woman.”

Raven pointed in Clarke’s direction, a smile on her face.  “Always knew you were a mind reader, Griffin.”

Clarke yawned.  “Just know you well, is all.”

Bellamy was staring at her, a look that could been shock but also might have been admiration on his face.  “Octavia,” he said quietly and slowly.  “What in the hell is wrong with your friends?”

“Well, I’m hungover,” Clarke offered.

“Not that she’s much better when she’s sober,” Raven offered.  “Clarke’s the dictionary definition of a killjoy.”

Clarke leveled a glare at her across the table.  “I am not.”

“Oh,  _come on_ ,” Octavia protested, “when was the last time you had any fun, Clarke?”

“Last night?”

“I don’t think last night was fun for anyone,” Bellamy muttered.

Raven laughed.  “Hey, I got a hot guy’s phone number out of it.”

“He goes by his last name, Rave,” Octavia said.  “That’s douche central.”

Raven shrugged.  “Whatever.  He was hot.  And a  _great kisser_.  He doesn’t need to be perfect.  Not for what I want him for.”  She grinned.

Clarke’s head fell forward onto the table.  “You guys are the worst.”

“No one told you to hammer back all those margaritas.”

“Whatever.”

By then their food had arrived and Clarke was salivating over the grease that was practically dripping off the bacon.  She ripped into it.

“So, Bellamy,” Raven said, “O said you teach?”

He cut a dainty piece of pancake and chewed it.  “Yep.  History, specializing in medieval Europe and ancient cultures.”

“So, a lot of dead people that no one other than Bell and a bunch of other stuffy academics in terrible suits really care about,” Octavia cut in, shoving a giant piece of French toast in her mouth.

Bellamy rolled his eyes.  “Octavia has never understood my interest in the past,” Bellamy explained.

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me that,” Clarke told her waffle darkly.  “I was the one who had to coach her through our college history requirement.”

Bellamy turned to her, shock written on his face.  HIs thigh brushed against hers.  She swallowed.  “That was you?”

She lowered the piece of bacon she’d been about to eat.  “Yeah, why?” she asked, her tone guarded.

“Because O did amazing in college history.  It was incredible.”

“Oh, thanks, big brother, really feeling the love here.”

Bellamy ignored his sister and just kept looking at Clarke.  “That was you, really?”

She shrugged.  “Yeah?  I’ve always liked history,” she offered after a long pause.

“Bell, stop being a creeper,” Octavia commanded from between bites of French toast.  “I know it’s weird and unusual for you to find people who like the kinds of things that you do but here on Earth staring is rude.”

Bellamy visibly shook himself.  “Right, um, sorry.”

Clarke couldn’t help but to smile.  “It’s fine.”

The conversation diverted into other topics (mostly Raven’s hookup with Wick) for approximately ten minutes before Bellamy exploded with, “So what’s your favorite time period in history?”

“ _Bellamy!”_  Octavia yelled, much too loudly considering they were in a public place among a large number of people who were just trying to enjoy their available 24 Hour pancakes.

Bellamy was blushing a little bit but he was staring directly at Clarke, clearly not backing down this time.

“Uhhh.”  Clarke had never really thought about it that way before.  To her it had always just been  _history._ Hearing Bellamy say that he  _specialized_  in a particular time period was foreign to her and almost alarming.

“Like the Renaissance?”

“Clarke’s really into art,” Octavia supplied.  “You nerds.”  She said these last words fondly, smiling down at her breakfast.  Raven just chuckled and took a drink of her coffee.

“She’s the artist?” Bellamy directed these words to his sister.

O nodded. “Yep.”  To Clarke she said, “I’ve showed him a bunch of your work. He’s obsessed with it.”

“Oh?” Clarke asked, turning to look at him.

Bellamy smiled bashfully.  “You’re really good.”

“Thanks.” The word came out breathier than she’d been intending.  If he wasn’t staring at her like that she’d be kicking herself for it.  But he was so she wasn’t.

Octavia snorted.  “What did I tell you,” she said to Raven.  “Instant chemistry.”

Raven laughed.  “I guess I owe you fifty bucks then.”

“Damn straight,” Octavia replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Raven and Octavia's initial insistence that Clarke and Bellamy were going to be the couple of the century (with Octavia going as far as to give them a name, Bellarke, for which Bellamy yelled at her extensively in Staples much to Raven and Clarke's enjoyment), their relationship remained exclusively platonic.

That wasn't to say they weren't close though.  They were alarmingly so, especially considering the nature of their meeting, with Clarke punching him in the face and all.

He was practically obsessed with her art and when she invited him to one of her art shows, he was so excited that it made her heart break a little.  Bellamy, meanwhile, had mainly been living off Raven and Octavia's couch and planning lessons.

He'd snagged the prestigious visiting history professor position at their local university and was due to start in a couple of weeks, teaching Medieval History and a couple of classes about the Greeks and Romans.  That was all Clarke had managed to get out of him about the subject because whenever he started talking about history for too long Octavia interrupted with a " _no one cares, Bell!"_  and immediately started talking about something else, like shoes or Desperate Housewives.  Which was fine with Clarke, who liked both of those things.

A week after they'd met, Clarke was pushing open the door to O and Raven's with her spare key to find Bellamy alone in the living room, typing frantically into a laptop.

"Hey, Clarke," he said to the screen without lifting his gaze.

She closed the door and toed her shoes off (Raven was militant about no shoes past the doormat).  "Hey.  Are Octavia and Raven here?"

He shook his head, again without looking up.  "Raven's at that guy's house still and O went to the grocery store to pick up a couple last minute things."

Clarke nodded and folded herself into one of their living room chairs.  Bellamy still hadn't looked up.

Raven and Wick's relationship had lasted much longer than Clarke or Raven had been expecting, by which they meant it had lasted longer than a night.  Raven hadn't dated anyone (or even hooked up with anyone more than once) since the Finn incident and Clarke definitely had not been expecting a guy who went by his last name to be the one that broke that dry spell.  But whatever, Raven was happier than she'd seen her in a long time, and that's what mattered.

"What're you working on?" she asked, after a long silence.

She and Bellamy were far from strangers now but she had spent barely any time alone with him and was used to having bubbly Octavia as a buffer.  He looked up.  "Shit, I'm sorry, if I'm being rude.  I'm just-" he gestured to the screen.

She leaned in.  He was looking at apartments.

"You apartment hunting?" she asked, as if the answer wasn't obvious.

He nodded solemnly.  "Yep.  Can't keep living on my sister's couch for the rest of the semester or however long after that, can I?"

Clarke smiled.  "I guess not."

Her eyes shifted to the neatly packed bags by the door that she hand't noticed until now.  His bags, moved from their place under the coffee table.  She gestured to them. "Did you find something already?"

Suddenly he looked sheepish as he bit his lip.  Then shook his head. "No.  Not yet.  But it shouldn't be too long.  And I can't infringe on Raven and Octavia's hospitality anymore."  He paused and grinned at her.  "Plus this couch is terrible."

Clarke laughed.  She knew that well enough herself from the few nights when she'd had a few too many drinks to safely drive home and had had to stay over.  "Tell me about it."

"Seriously, when did they buy this thing, the 60s?"

"It did come from a flea market," she allowed.

He smiled.  Her cheeks warmed a little.  She held his stare for what might have been a little too long.

She cleared her throat.  He looked away, and was it just her imagination was that a blush under his dark complexion?  "So where are you going to stay?" she asked, trying to drive the conversation in another direction.

He bit his lip.  "I have a reservation at a hotel in town for the next couple weeks.  And I can extend it if I need to."

Clarke's brow furrowed.  "Are you kidding?"

He looked back at her. "No?"

"I have a spare room."  The words were out of her mouth before she'd properly processed them and she barely avoided clapping a hand over her mouth once they'd escaped.

He stared at her, mouth hanging open just a little.  She stared back.  It was true.  She did have a spare room.  And she knew Bellamy well enough by now to know that he wasn't an axe murderer.  There really was no reason why he couldn't stay with her until he found something better.

"Oh, no, Clarke, thank you so much for offering but I couldn't-"

Just then the front door banged open to reveal a frazzled Octavia, holding handfuls of shopping bags.  "Couldn't what?"

Clarke and Bellamy stared at each other, matching concern mirrored in both their eyes.

"Nothing," Bellamy stammered out, not looking away from Clarke.

"Whatever, losers, I'm making dinner.  Raven should be back in twenty."

She disappeared into the kitchen and Clarke and Bellamy both relaxed.  But it wasn't over.  With Octavia it never was.

 

The topic made a reappearance at dinner over lasagna.

At first they'd all tormented Raven over Wick but they'd exhausted that particular topic once Raven had threatened to steal all of Octavia's shower products and hide them somewhere she'd never find them (that always shut down arguments) and now they were back on the awkward encounter from earlier.

"So, Bell," O said nonchalantly, spearing a bite of lasagna and lifting it halfway to her mouth.  "What were you and Clarke talking about earlier?"

"Nothing," Bellamy repeated, his tone light but Clarke could hear the current of warning under it.

Clearly Octavia could, too, because she brightened up.  "Doesn't sound like nothing."

Raven had also perked up to the topic.  There was no getting away from it now.  Clarke sighed and decided to step in front of the speeding freight train, consequences be damned.

"I was just telling Bellamy that since he's moving out of here, he could stay with me instead of at a hotel until he finds something more permanent."

She probably could have heard a pin drop in the silence.  It was so quiet it was almost oppressive.  Octavia almost dropped her fork.  Clarke swallowed.  Bellamy was looking down at his plate, clearly wishing he was anywhere but here.

Octavia looked between the two of them and said, "Well, why the hell didn't we think of that earlier?"

Raven shook her head bemusedly and took a giant bite out of her garlic bread.

"I mean," Octavia continued.  "That couch is a piece of shit.  And Clarke's apartment is a lot nicer than ours."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  Bellamy's gaze shifted to her but he didn't say anything.

"Bell, why did you say no?"

"Because I've already spent far too much time here infringing on your and Raven's hospitality, I'm not going to do the same to Clarke.  I'll just take up space."

"You did hear the part about her having an extra room right?" Raven asked, finally breaking into the conversation. "Because she does."

Bellamy shot Clarke a helpless look.  She shrugged.  "I did offer.  You're more than welcome to stay. I can promise it'll be a bit more home-y than a hotel."  Bellamy's face softened a little and Clarke worked to hide her smile.

"There!" Octavia announced, slapping the table.  "That's settled.  Bell will go home with Clarke tonight and-- Fuck that's not how I meant that."

Raven was laughing, Bellamy looked mortified, and Clarke was pretty sure she was the color of a tomato.

"Whatever," Octavia muttered.  "Eat your goddamn dinner, I worked hard on that lasagna."

Clarke hid her next smile at Bellamy's still-shocked expression in her next bite of lasagna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is significantly longer than 1-3 and that's probably going to be a trend. Those ones were primarily written for Tumblr and I try to keep them smaller. But we're getting into the meatier stuff now which means longer chapters!
> 
> Also, in case anyone was wondering, the title inspiration is from Maroon 5's song of the same name. (the song will give you spoilers for where I'm taking this if you haven't been able to figure out my general trajectory yet)
> 
> Happy reading!

“Hey, Clarke?” Bellamy yelled from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

She turned off the tap, elbows deep in dishwater and cocked her head to the side.  “Yeah?”

“I’m doing laundry, you want me to wash your sheets?”

“That’d be great!  Could you throw my clothes in, too, if there’s room?”

She waited for his answering, “yeah, sure!” before turning the tap on again and going back to washing their dishes from breakfast.

Behind Clarke Raven cleared her throat.  Octavia’s boyfriend, who had been studying abroad at Oxford for the last year and a half, had come home that morning and she’d kicked Raven out, telling to go bother Clarke or something.  So Raven had joined Clarke and Bellamy for breakfast, and had been silently staring at Clarke with an intensity that could melt iron since she’d gotten there.

Clarke had Bellamy had been roommates for about a week and this was the first time Raven had seen either of them since the dinner when they’d decided Bellamy would be moving in with Clarke.  And clearly she was shocked by what she was seeing.

“What, Rave?” Clarke deadpanned, scrubbing with vigor at the bacon grease that had baked onto the pan.

“He’s doing your laundry now?” Raven asked in an incredulous voice, kept low so that Bellamy wouldn’t be able to hear.

Clarke shrugged.  “Yeah?”

Raven was silent.  When Clarke turned around to look at her, Raven who was giving her a _oh, come on_ kind of look.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Clarke asked weakly.

“Clarke, babe, you know I love you but _seriously_.”

Clarke just stared back.

“You have known this guy for like two weeks.  And need I remind you of how you met him?”

“No,” Clarke said quickly.  “I can remember that perfectly fine, thank you.”

“And now he’s doing your laundry.”

“Raven.”

“Clarke.”

Clarke turned the tap off and spun to face her friend, leaning back against the counter.  “Okay, out with it.”

Raven studied her for a long moment before she said, “You’re acting domestic.”  She paused.  “Like…like a couple.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.”

Raven slid off her chair and grasped Clarke by the shoulders, shaking her lightly.  “Okay, well, let’s see here.  Just this morning I watched him make your coffee just how you like it.  I’ve known you for years and Octavia for longer yet neither of us can get your coffee right.”

Clarke opened her mouth but Raven held up a finger.  Clarke closed her mouth.

“You made him breakfast.  He’s washing your clothes, which I’m sure includes your underwear, and _you don’t care_.  For God’s sake, _you’re wearing one of his shirts.”_

Clarke looked down at the oversized, worn Rolling Stones shirt she hadn't even realized she was wearing.  “Oh.”

“You didn’t even realize it?”

Clarke shrugged.  “No?  I’m pretty sure he’s wearing one of my dad’s old sweatshirts.”

“You don’t let anyone touch your dad’s old sweatshirts,” Raven said darkly.

Clarke shrugged.  “He’s—”

“Different?” Raven finished.  Clarke nodded.  “Yeah, well, Clarke, babe, I’m pretty sure you’re the last one to be figuring that out.

Clarke grumbled over that as Bellamy emerged in the archway.  “Here, Clarke, I can finish those, you’ve been washing dishes forever.”

Clarke smiled at him and stepped back, handing him the sponge and doing her best to ignore the pointed _what did I tell you_ look Raven was currently sending in her direction.

 

It wasn’t necessarily that Clarke had been expecting Bellamy to be a bad roommate and more just that she hadn’t been expecting him to be such a _good_ one.

She hadn’t lived with anyone since she graduated from college, preferring to live by herself and cough up the extra cash to have her own space and no roommates who brought home strangers at 2 AM, left water all over the bathroom, and never washed their dishes.

She’d offered to let Bellamy stay with her as a temporary solution more because she didn’t want him to have to live in a hotel room than because she actually wanted him as a roommate.  But now that they’d been cohabiting Clarke’s two bedroom apartment for about a week, she wasn’t sure how she was going to go back to doing things herself.

The second day he’d been there while she’d been out grocery shopping, he’d found her stash of cleaning supplies in the bathroom and had essentially cleaned everything.  She’d come home to him vacuuming the living room and had essentially stood stock still in the doorway, clutching a grocery bag, until he turned off the vacuum and said, “I was bored.”

And that was the story of Bellamy Blake as a roommate.  He continued to keep up the “bored” facade for another day or two but after she found him oiling all the hinges of her doors she confronted him about it.  And he’d admitted that since she was being so nice to him and letting him stay with her free of charge, the least he could do was help her out a little.

Except for the part where his idea of “a little” was more than Clarke had ever done in the three years since she’d started living in the apartment.  She was pretty sure that if she’d let him, he would have redecorated and painted all the walls by now.  Thank God he kept his interior decorator at bay and instead was now obsessed with making sure she didn’t have to do anything.  Thus the laundry and the dishes.

And Clarke would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the help.  All the other roommates she’d had in the past were notoriously horrible at doing anything productive for anyone other than themselves ever and so it was a nice breath of fresh air to have someone who was willing to help her out.  And just for the record she didn’t care what Raven said.  They _weren’t_ domestic.

It also happened to be the second Saturday of the month which meant game night.  This month it was Clarke’s turn to host which meant Monopoly and, if Monty and Jasper lived up to their promise, a Monopoly-inspired drinking game.

Monthly game nights had started when they were freshmen in college with just Clarke, Octavia, and Monty and Jasper, the two guys who had lived in the room next to theirs.  The group expanded and contracted to include significant others but the core group had been slowly growing.  Now it included Raven, Monty’s partner Miller, Jasper’s fiancee, Maya, and, when he was in town, Lincoln, Octavia’s boyfriend.  And now apparently Bellamy.

Who was beyond excited.  Clarke had tried to explain to him multiple times that game night basically consisted of them cramming themselves into someone’s living room, using the board game as an excuse to get trashed, and then yelling at each other when they were all drunk enough to not care anymore.

But apparently Bellamy was a huge Monopoly fan, which Octavia told her over the phone later that afternoon when Clarke called her, slightly worried over the fact that Bellamy was getting so worked up about the whole evening.

“Yeah, he’s a giant game nerd, “Octavia told her.  “Loves Monopoly more than life, probably.”

“Great,” Clarke grumbled.

“He’s also really good at it.  He’s probably going to give you a run for your money.”

Clarke was the reigning champion of Monopoly.  She destroyed everyone every time no matter how they teamed up on her.  She’d gotten used to the easy wins.  It would be nice to have a bit of competition.

“Yo, Clarke, you there?”

Clarke snapped out of the daze she’d unknowingly lapsed into.  “Yeah, sorry, got distracted.  Your brother’s currently deep cleaning all of my blinds.”

Octavia laughed.  “He does that.”

“I must say I’m a little bit confused as to why would were willing to let him leave.  My apartment has _never_ been this clean.”

She could hear Octavia’s smile in her voice when she said, “well, it was more his idea than anyone else’s.  And it’s hard to convince Bell to not do something once he’s set his mind to it.”  

Clarke heard what sounded like Lincoln’s voice in the background, calling for Octavia before the other girl said, “I gotta go.  But I’ll see you at seven.  I’m bringing brownies.”

There was a _click_ and the line was dead.

Bellamy was still occupied with the blinds, bobbing his head in tune to the faint sounds of classic rock emanating from his headphones.  Clarke shook her head good-naturedly and smiled.  She tapped him on the back and he pulled one of his headphones out. 

“Yeah?’ his voice was soft and Clarke bit her lip.

“They’re going to be here in an hour.  If you wanted to take a shower or anything.”

He nodded.  “Right, thanks, Clarke.”  Then smiled again.  She told herself that the small tug in the pit of her stomach was gratitude for everything he was doing for her.

But even as she repeated that over and over in here head ( _gratitude, Clarke, it’s gratitude)_ she could practically hear Raven saying, “Doesn’t look like any gratitude I’ve ever seen," even though the other girl had left for Wick's twenty minutes ago.

Almost an hour later Bellamy was raiding Clarke’s liquor cabinet while she dug the Monopoly box out of her linen closet.  Since there were so many in their group now it had been at least six months since Clarke had hosted and the box had gotten buried under more stuff than Clarke thought she had.

The doorbell rang and she yelled, “Hey, Bellamy?  Can you get that?”

“Already on it, princess!” came his response, closely followed by the turn of the lock and the creak of her hinges (naturally the front door was the only one he hadn’t oiled).

“Bell!”

Octavia was almost always the first one to arrive and Clarke could already smell the delectable brownies that were her specialty.

“Clarke, where do you want the brownies?” O yelled and Clarke stuck her head into the living room.

“Kitchen, you know where—oh, hey, Jasper, Maya,” she said to the pair stepping around Lincoln, Octavia’s boyfriend, who was currently clapping Bellamy on the shoulder.

“Monty and Nate are going to be a bit late,” Jasper told Clarke as he took Maya’s coat and slung them over a chair.  “They got stuck in traffic.”

Clarke shrugged.  “We’re still waiting on Raven, too, so it’s good.”

Raven showed up with the newest conquest, Wick, twenty minutes later with Monty and Miller on their heels.  Clarke and Bellamy set up the game and they sat down to play.

Somewhere around three years ago they’d managed to turn every board game they played into a drinking game.  Life, Sorry, Monopoly, Risk, Trouble, even Twister that one time Jasper hadn’t been able to find Clue.  Though no one talked about the drunken Twister game.  They were all too scarred.

It was too early in the game for them to be really drunk but everyone was definitely starting to get tipsy.  Monty was the lightweight of the group and it showed as he said, “I want a hotel,” in a regal voice that had everyone cracking up.

Clarke was always the banker because out of them all, she could hold her liquor the best (which also probably played into why she always won) and was the only one who could be counted on to count properly once they were a good ways in.  She handed one over as Jasper raised his shot glass.

“You all know the rules.  Someone buys a hotel, we all _drink!_ ”  He threw his back as did everyone else.  Clarke savored the burn of the whiskey as it slid down her throat.

Bellamy, sitting next to her, leaned over and whispered.  “I don’t need to worry about you punching me in the face this time, do I?”

Clarke laughed.  “No.  Tequila is my downfall but I can handle pretty much anything else.”

He gave her a knowing grin.  “Good.  Because I like my face the way it is.”

Clarke barely stopped herself from saying “ _so do I”_ and blushed but he didn’t seem to notice.  Thank God.  Octavia, however, was grinning at them from her post in Lincoln’s lap across the circle.  Clarke covertly flipped her off.  The other girl’s grin only widened.

“Hey, Clarke,” Monty slurred from next to her.  “I knew you were a clean freak and everything but I don’t think I’ve ever seen an apartment this clean that someone actually lived in.

Clarke’s cheeks reddened and next to her Bellamy scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Then obviously you don’t know my brother,” Octavia said, aiming a sweet smile in Clarke’s direction.

Everyone’s attention was very suddenly on the two of them.  “You cleaned her apartment?” Jasper demanded.  “Really, man?”

Bellamy shrugged.  “She’s letting me live here for the time being, it’s the least I can do.”

He shot Clarke a look out of the corner of his eye, a very deer in headlights, _how do we get them to stop looking at us like that?_ look and Clarke shrugged helplessly.

They were all distracted again when Lincoln dropped the die he was holding and they scattered across the floor.  Clarke made a mental note to thank him later.

As was to be expected, Clarke swept the floor with everyone except Bellamy, who she just barely beat because he happened to land on her most tricked out property right at the end of the game.

She celebrated by downing the rest of the bottle of whiskey (in her defense, there hadn’t been that much left) which probably hadn’t been the greatest idea and she would definitely be hating herself tomorrow but for now, who gave a shit.  She was young and she’d just beaten her best friend’s older brother at Monopoly while completely trashed.  And she had no idea why that was any kind of accomplishment worth writing home about but fuck it, she was excited about it, okay?

Somehow at one point she’d ended up with beer in her hair so she left Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln on cleaning duty and slipped into the shower.  When she emerged, feeling clean and smelling distinctly of her favorite vanilla shower gel, she found all three of them on the couch watching reruns of a Real Housewives show.  If the looks on Bellamy and Lincoln’s faces were any indication, that had been O’s idea.

“What are you guys still doing here?” Clarke asked through the still-lingering haze of alcohol.

“When Raven left she informed me that if I went back to the apartment tonight she’d throw all my stuff out the window,” Octavia said.  “She must be punishing me for earlier.”

“Uh-huh,” Clarke said around a yawn.  “Why don’t you go to Lincoln’s?”

“I gave up my lease when I left for Oxford.  Haven’t found anything new yet.”

“What so you think you can sleep on my couch just because you want to?”

“Oh, no,” Bellamy cut in.  “I told them they could have my room.  I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clarke argued.  “You practically live here now.  And you said it yourself, that’s _your_ room.”

“It’s fine, Clarke,” Bellamy said softly.  “It’s just one night.  And you have a great couch.”

“No, you’re not sleeping on the couch.”  He opened his mouth but she cut him off.  “And neither are they, come on.”

“What?”

Octavia was staring at her.  Clarke could see the gears clicking in her head and the moment they fit into place.

“As long as you promise to keep your pants on you can sleep with me.  Now _come on_ I’m exhausted.”

When he didn’t move, Octavia shoved him a little.  He stood kind of shakily, though Clarke chose to blame that on the alcohol, and followed her into her room.

“Night, guys!” Octavia called, clearly trying to mask the gleeful tone in her voice.

Clarke rolled her eyes but yelled back, “Night!”

When she’d shut her door and was pulling her hair down out of its messy bun Bellamy said, “Clarke you don’t have to—”

She turned to face him and smiled.  “I know.  But there’s no reason for you to sleep on the couch.  But I am exhausted so if you want to have a fight with someone about this it’s going to have to be yourself.”

He cracked a small smile at that and hesitantly drifted over to the side of the bed, pulling back her soft mint green comforter and sliding over.  “Oh, my God,” he mumbled.  “This mattress is incredible.”

“Still want the couch?” she teased, flicking the light switch.

“Definitely no,” he said and she allowed herself to smile, knowing that he couldn’t see her in the dark.

She curled up on her own side of the bed, hyperaware of his presence _right there_ and closed her eyes.  “Good night, Bell,” she whispered.

For a long moment she thought he hadn’t heard her or was already to sleep but then his knuckles were just barely brushing her back just for the shortest of seconds and he whispered back, “Good night, Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely was not planning on updating this so quickly but...I'm lazy and don't want to study for finals so here we are. This is a lot of exposition but after this it'll probably be most action.
> 
> This fic now has a playlist! You can find it on 8tracks [here.](http://8tracks.com/willaphyx/it-was-always-you)

Clarke woke the next morning with the weight of someone else’s arm thrown over her middle.

She froze for just a second, muddling through the pounding in her head, trying to remember what the _hell_ she’d done last night and who was in her bed. Except that arm was familiar?

And then game night came flooding back to her.  Raven kicking Octavia out.  Octavia and Lincoln asleep in her spare bedroom.  And Bellamy…well, Bellamy in bed with her.

That probably had not been one of her greatest decisions.  But she’d been drunk.  And he was warm.  And she’d slept better than she had in what felt like months.

She shifted and the movement clearly woke him.  Either that or he’d been awake the whole time, just waiting for her.  The thought warmed her heart a little.

“Hey,” he whispered groggily into the back of her neck.  Clarke suppressed the small shiver it induced.  “Sleep well?”

She rolled over onto her back and tried to ignore how he didn’t move his arm, letting it drape with a heavy (yet perfect) weight across her stomach.  She nodded.  “Definitely.  You?”

He flashed her that dazzling smile that somehow, combined with his tousled hair and the sleep lines crisscrossing his face, was even more handsome than usual.  “Mhmm,” he hummed in agreement.

“Your sister’s going to want breakfast,” Clarke told the ceiling and Bellamy laughed, muffling the sound into one of her pillows.

“Probably should get up anyway,” he said after a pause and shifted his arm, rubbing the now free hand over his face.  “And hey, Clarke?”

She swung her legs out of bed and looked over at him.  “Yeah?”

“Thanks.  For letting me sleep here.”

She smiled.  “Of course.  What are friends for?”

And that was that.

 

Bellamy and Clarke’s Cohabitation™ (credit to Octavia) continued without a hitch.  Eventually he stopped protesting that his obsessive cleaning was just to thank her and she stopped pretending they weren’t domestic.

There was a list of house rules up on the fridge now.  Raven had been the first to notice them and she’d dropped one Clarke’s favorite bowls in shock.  The shattering ceramic had brought both Clarke and Bellamy in from the other room where they were debating the pros and cons of Clarke buying new throw pillows for her couch and they’d both just stared in shock at Raven while the other girl stared in shock at the piece of paper tacked to the fridge.

“Raven!” Clarke finally yelped.  “You know how much I love that china set!”

Raven tore her eyes away from the list and pointed at it.  “What is that?”

Clarke and Bellamy exchanged a long glance and sighed.  “It’s a list of rules,” Clarke said slowly.  “You and O have one.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t _live_ here.  Not really.”

“Sure, I do.  Not permanently, but I do.  And Clarke’s not my housekeeper.”

Raven’s eyes flickered between the two of them then she sweetly said, “No of course not because that’s you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “Please.  You’re just jealous because Octavia's a slob and you have to clean up after her.”

Raven snorted.  “Whatever.”  Her phone beeped and she pulled it out, casting a fast glance at the screen, starting in the direction of the front door.  “I gotta go meet Kyle for lunch.  When you send out the wedding invitations make sure he gets one!”

Clarke ignored the invitation comment and yelled back, “Oh, so he’s Kyle now?”

Raven flipped her off then added, “You and O were the ones who were always railing about him going by his last name.”

The door snapped shut behind her and Clarke deflated against the counter.

“Sorry,” Bellamy mumbled.

Clarke shook her head and smiled.  “It’s not your fault.”  She took a deep breath then continued, “They’re so used to me living by myself that I don’t think they know what to do.  I had a long term boyfriend in college.  Finn.  We dated for three years and he tried to get me to move in with him on multiple occasions but I always said no.”

“So for them to see you offering to let me live with you it must seem like something it’s not.”

“I guess,” she said, leaning her head against the row of cabinets behind her.

“Well, in that case, I have some good news.”

She looked at him.  “Oh?”

“I think I found an apartment.”

Even as a beam spread across Bellamy's face, Clarke felt  her stomach plummet.

 

Clarke had gotten used to having Bellamy around.  Sure, there had always been that whispering voice in the back of her mind repeating over and over that this wasn’t permanent, that he was going to have to leave eventually.  And Clarke found herself parroting this very voice back to all their friends.

 _“It’s just temporary,”_ she’d say.  Or “ _he’s just here because he didn’t have anywhere to go._ ”  Or her personal favorite: _“I’m just trying to be a good friend.”_

Even though she wasn’t even really sure if they were friends.  Okay, maybe that was the wrong way to put it.  They were _friends_ but had their relationship transcended the plane of friendship to achieve something, still platonic, yet entirely different?

Clarke believed that living with someone was the ultimate test of a relationship.  It was why she’d moved out of dorms as soon as she possibly could.  It was why she’d said no to Finn when he’d asked her to move in with him.  It was the reason why she’d turned down O and Raven when they asked if she wanted to join up with them for a three bedroom instead of a two.

She was always afraid that moving in with someone she knew and cared about would ruin the relationship.  That they would deteriorate into screaming at each other about not unpacking the dishwasher soon enough, about leaving crumbs on the counter, about getting water on the bathroom floor.

That was why it had been so easy to say yes to Bellamy.  She didn’t know him.  It didn’t matter if she hated him.  Because it was _temporary_.

But then it wasn’t.  At least, she didn't want it to be.

 

“An apartment?” Clarke was aware that her voice sounded distinctly strangled.

A line appeared between Bellamy’s eyebrows.  “Yeah.  You know where I can live?  So you can have your spare room back?”

She knew he was joking but she was still having trouble processing his earlier sentence.  “That’s great, Bell,” she managed finally.  “Where is it?”

 

The next week went by like all the weeks before it.

Clarke taught art at a local middle school three days a week and spent three of the remaining days of the week at the studio space she rented working on her own projects.  Bellamy had started teaching and spent most of his time writing up lesson plans and grumbling over essays.  They were in an easy cohabitation.  Whoever got home first made dinner.  The other person did the dishes.  They usually worked in silence after dinner while watching reruns of something on HGTV (Bellamy was a sucker for home renovation shows, Clarke had figured out, no matter how much he tried to deny it).  And then they’d go to bed.  He’d kiss her on the cheek, say “Good night, Clarke,” in a soft voice and then leave.  She’d spend another thirty minutes or so sketching and then follow suit.

But now there was a hidden current running through their day-to-day activities.  Bellamy was oblivious, or at least she thought he was.  Soon there would be only dinner for one.  There would be no late night snorts at the ridiculous demands couples had on House Hunters.  She’d have to make her own coffee again.  She’d come home at night to an empty apartment.

For the first time since Clarke first started living on her own, she allowed herself to admit that she’d be _lonely_.

 

Bellamy’s lease fell through.

And Clarke put on a “oh, no, I’m so sorry, Bell” face but secretly, on the inside, she was happy about it.  She had considered offering to let him move in permanently multiple times.  But that turned over a rock that she didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole.  First there would be his shocked expression and the “really, Clarke?  Are you sure?”  And then there would be her friends.  Raven would be near insufferable and she was pretty sure she’d never be able to look Octavia in the eyes again, afraid that O would see right through any lies she came up with like she always did.

So she didn’t mention it.

So she just said, “I hope you find something else.”  And then nodded and replied “of course” when he asked if he could continue staying with her until he did find something.

But Clarke couldn’t help but notice that Bellamy wasn’t spending nearly as much time looking for apartments anymore.  And the next time she came over, Octavia pointed out how Bell had spread out a bit more.  Clarke hadn’t noticed it herself until the other girl had mentioned it but now, looking around her apartment, she saw an effortless mix of herself and Bellamy.

There was the messy stack of papers he still had to grade on the end table in the living room resting on top of her sketchbook.  And the thermos he used for coffee on the days that he had early classes on the counter next to her coffee maker.  And his history books spread out on the coffee table next to her own books about art.  And his jacket lying over the back of a chair from earlier when he had forgotten to hang it up.  Then there were his shoes by the door, carelessly tossed over her own half the time, and his mugs in the cabinet, and his toiletries in the bathroom.

All in all, it looked like Bellamy Blake had moved in.  Possibly for good.  And Clarke Griffin could not possibly have cared less.

 

One night Bellamy came home to Clarke curled up on the couch flipping through one of his coffee table books with an intense look on her face.

“Hey,” he said, dropping down next to her and lifting the cover.  “Isn't this mine?  What are you reading about the Renaissance for?”

“I’m trying to mix up my lesson plans this year,” Clarke told Raphael’s _Madonna and Child,_ a pinched look on her face.  “By maybe adding in some art history with a side of the historical climate of the time period.  But I forgot how terrible I am at history.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything.  When she looked up at him, he had a wide smile plastered across his face.  “You might not be the greatest with history,” he said finally.  “But do you know who is?”

She stared at him.  “Seriously?” she demanded.

He shrugged.

“You’re seriously offering to give up your precious time to come in and teach my middle schoolers about the Renaissance?”

He shrugged again but this time it was accompanied by a small smile.  “Sure.  Why not?”

“Okay,” she said slowly.  “You don’t have classes on Wednesday afternoons, right?”

“Nope.”

“How long do you need to prepare?”

He grinned.  “That depends on how in-depth you want me to go.”

“They are middle schoolers,” she cautioned.

He ruffled her hair jokingly as he smiled and said, “I know.  Don’t worry.  Give me a date and I’ll be ready.”

Clarke thought for a minute, a little distracted by the feeling of his hand in her hair then said, “Next week?”

“Done.”

She smiled and touched his shoulder lightly.  “You’re the best, Bell.”

His gaze was intense when he gaze back and said, “Only for you, princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

It only took Octavia five hours to find out about Bellamy agreeing to teach Clarke's class about the Renaissance.  Or at least that's how long it took her to show up on Clarke's doorstep.

"Clarke Griffin!" the younger Blake was yelling.  "I swear to God if you don't let me in  _right now_ I'm breaking down this door!"

You'd think she wasn't being serious but Octavia had managed to do serious damage to her dorm room their junior year of college so she wasn't taking any chances this time around.

Clarke sighed as he opened the door, counting her lucky stars that at least Bell wasn't there.

"Hello, Octavia," Clarke muttered as she opened the door and her friend shouldered her way inside.  "How are you today, Octavia?"

Octavia made a face.

"What are you doing here?"

Octavia threw her an annoyed look.  "As if you don't know."  She threw herself onto the couch.  "Why is my brother writing lesson plans about the Renaissance designed for middle schoolers?"

Clarke bit her lip.  "He's coming in to teach a lesson to my class."

"Did he offer or did you ask?"

"He offered?"

Octavia stared at her.  "Jesus, you two."

"What are you talking about."

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret about my brother," Octavia said, leaning forward, pointing a finger.  "He hates everyone."

Clarke stared.  "I'm sorry?"

"Bellamy doesn't do nice things for people.  Other than me, anyway."

"He cleaned my apartment," Clarke said dumbly.

"Yes," Octavia said.  "Exactly.  I didn't say anything about it then because Bell loves cleaning but that combined with  _this?"_

"Octavia," Clarke said slowly after a pause.  "What are you saying?"

Octavia didn't say anything.

"He offered to help because he likes history, O, he  _is_ a teacher."

"Yes," Octavia said.  "A  _college_ professor who teaches  _college_ students.  Not middle schoolers."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Did you just come over here to tell me things that I already knew?"

Octavia rubbed her forehead.  "Don't mess with my brother, Clarke.  Promise me you won't."

Clarke frowned.  "Octavia, he's my roommate.  He's my friend.  I would never--"

"I think if Bell had his way you'd be a lot more than that," Octavia muttered.

Clarke froze.  "Octavia," she said darkly.  "Your brother and I are friends.  That's it.  Friends and roommates."

"Right," Octavia said.  "Roommates.  After you had literally known him for what?  A week?"

"Don't make me remind you who thought us moving in together was a good idea."

Octavia rolled her eyes.  "Don't pull that crap on me, Clarke."

"Bellamy doesn't like me that way, O.  I promise."

Octavia considered her carefully.  "And you?  Do you like him that way?"

"Of course not."

And it was true.   So why did it taste like a lie?

 

Thankfully Octavia didn't tell Raven.  Or if she did, Raven didn't mention it to Clarke.  Nor did Clarke mention her conversation with Octavia to Bellamy.  Mostly because she was too embarrassed to admit to him that his sister thought he had a crush on her.  Because he didn't.  And that would sound  _so_ desperate.  And if there was one thing Clarke Griffin was not, it was desperate.

Though Octavia was right, Bellamy had put a lot of time and effort into his lesson plan considering it was literally just a twenty minute bare bones presentation about the Renaissance to a bunch of middle schoolers who probably couldn't care less.  But the presentation had gone off without a hitch and the kids had loved him.

"That was incredible," Clarke told him in a rush as she drove them home that afternoon.  "I've never seen them that engaged before."

Bellamy smiled as he looked out the window.  "Just glad to be of help."

"I might have to make this a weekly thing now," Clarke said, glancing over to see that Bellamy was grinning.  "If you want."

"I'd love to.  I don't get a lot of chances to talk about art history."

"Clearly your bosses are missing out then," she said before she could stop herself.  "You're great at it."

Bellamy bit his lip.  "Thank you, Clarke," he said softly.

"And you know, you don't have to do it again," she said in a rush.  "I know you're busy with teaching your own classes and all that."

The next time she looked over she found him looking at her.  "Of course I'll do it.  As many times as you want me."

"Well, that's going to be until you leave," she said with a smile, expecting him to return it.

Instead his face tightened as his eyes darkened.  "Right," he said tightly.  "When I leave."

"Bell?" she asked, concerned.  "You okay?"

"Absolutely."  But his tone was still a bit too harsh.

She looked over at him again.  He was staring determinedly out the front window, posture stiff.

"And you're going to have to let me take you out to dinner," she told him after a long, pregnant pause.  "As a thank you."

He looked over at her, features softening.  "Clarke...you don't have to do that."

"I know," she said brightly.  "I want to."

He studied her for a moment longer.  "All right.  You choose the restaurant though."

She smiled.  "I can do that."

 

"I can't do this," Clarke moaned, staring at the clothes in her closet which, five hours ago, had been completely suitable. Now none of them were right.

"Babe," Raven said from the bed.  "You've got plenty of nice stuff."

"They're not right," Clarke protested.

"You're just going to dinner with my brother, Clarke," Octavia added.  "You know, your  _roommate?"_

Clarke turned and glared.  Octavia and Raven were both grinning.

"Neither of you are any help at all," she grumbled.  "And for the record, he  _is_ just my roommate."

"Sure, okay," Octavia replied, rolling over onto her back.  "If that's the case why don't you just put on jeans or something?  It's not like you're going anywhere super fancy."

And that was true.  And it also was true that Bellamy had seen her in much worse than a pair of jeans and a nice shirt.  Yet something about that just felt wrong.

"But then what if  _he_ wears something nicer?" she protested.  "I can't look completely wrong."

When Octavia and Raven had come over earlier, O had practically thrown Bellamy into his room with a stern "stay," and then herded Clarke into her own room.  Clarke was half-tempted to make a break for the door (she probably wouldn't make it but it was worth a shot) if only to ask Bellamy what he was planning on wearing just so she wasn't completely over or underdressed.

But the problem with that was a) Octavia and Raven would never let her get out her own door let alone across the apartment to Bellamy's and b) asking him what he was going to wear made her look both desperate and too invested than she wanted to let on.

Because she had already accepted that she was way more invested than she should have been.  Considering that, you know, this was just a simple dinner meant to thank her  _roommate_ who also happened to be her best friend's brother for helping her out.

"It was a struggle to get him into a tux for his senior prom," Octavia answered.  "Trust me when I say that it's highly unlikely he'll be wearing anything nicer than normal."

Clarke sighed.  "Okay," she said, considering her clothing options again and pulling out a dress.  "I'll wear this?"

She held it up.  Octavia and Raven shared a smile then nodded.  " _Hot,"_ Raven said as Octavia added, "Bell loves blue."

 

Bellamy was sitting on the couch, forearms resting on his knees, staring at the floor.  Clarke was immediately glad that she'd decided on a nicer dress, cardigan, and a pair of heels, because he was wearing khakis and a button down, much nicer than anything she'd ever seen him in.

She swallowed.

"Look who cleans up nice," Raven said, an appreciative tone in her voice.

Bellamy's head snapped up and his cheeks were flushed red.  His eyes fell on Clarke, then slid to Raven for the smallest of seconds before snapping back to Clarke.  She saw his eyes widen a little. His lips parted.

"Breathe, big brother," Octavia chided, a smile in her voice.  "Don't stare."

Bellamy swallowed but didn't look away.  "You look...really nice, Clarke," he managed.

She smiled, her own cheeks flushing.  "Thanks.  So do you."  Anxiously she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle in her dress.

"You ready?" he asked quickly and maybe a bit too brightly, standing abruptly.

"Yeah, definitely," she responded.  Then to O and Raven, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Raven was grinning in a way that made Clarke want to strangle her as Octavia replied, "Sure thing, Clarke.  Have fun."  Then to Bellamy, "don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

He rolled his eyes. "That doesn't cross out a lot," he grumbled.

The door slamming shut cut off the sound of Raven and Octavia's laughter.

"Jesus," Bellamy muttered as they started down the stairs.  "That was a whole new level of awkward and uncomfortable."

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.  "Tell me about it."

"It's just us," he added, "it's just dinner."

"Exactly."

"And they were acting like two proud parents sending their kid off to prom with her new boyfriend."

Clarke burst out laughing.  "I pity any child who has Raven and your sister as parents."

Bellamy smiled.  "That would be a bit of a horror show wouldn't it?"

Clarke smiled again.  "But you're right," she continued.  "Absolutely normal.  Absolutely  _not_ a date.  Which is what they've been hinting at all night."

"Right," he said, stifling a small smile.  "Exactly."

 

It felt like a date.

Bellamy had opened her car door for her and every other actual door.  He'd pulled out her chair at the restaurant.  As the hostess was leading them to their table, he'd even had a hand on the middle of her back.

It was all very boyfriend-y and that wasn't even the worst part.  No, the worst part was that she was enjoying it.

So now here they were, sitting across from each other at the restaurant, staring determinedly at their menus, making the usual basic comments about what looked good.

Clarke had had to tell Bellamy six times already that she was paying.  They hadn't even ordered appetizers yet.

Everything was awkward.  And Clarke had no idea why.  This was  _Bellamy._ Just Bellamy.  This wasn't the first time they'd been to a restaurant together, just them.  And every time before that had been just fine.  So what was it with  _this time_ that made everything awkward?

Clarke got her answer when their waiter arrived with a pitcher of water and notepad.  As he was pouring the water he said, "are you celebrating anything tonight?  An anniversary maybe?"

Bellamy looked frozen to his chair.  "I"m sorry?" Clarke asked.

"You make a lovely couple."

"We're not," Bellamy said, clearly having gotten his voice back.

The waiter appeared taken aback.  "Oh, no, I'm so sorr--"

"Don't worry about it," Bellamy said with a good-natured smile.  "She's my roommate.  And my sister's best friend."

"Oh, right, of course."  He paused.  "Now what can I get you to drink?"

She's halfway through her garden salad appetizer when Clarke realizes that the restaurant is literally filled to the brim with couples.  Young ones, too.  Sure, there's a handful of families thrown into the mix and that one giant table of fourteen middle-aged woman who had definitely had too much champagne, but that was just a small percentage of the rest of the restaurants patrons.

The couple at the table next to them was holding hands and soppily staring at each other across the table.  Clarke looked away.

"Thank you for this, Clarke," Bellamy said.  "You really didn't have to do this."

"Of course I did," she said quickly.  "And it's not just because of the teaching thing, but I mean I appreciate that."

"Then why is it?" His stare was intense.  Clarke felt herself flush a little and was thankful for the darker lighting of the restaurant.

"I just...well, I wanted to say thank you for everything you've done.  You've been a great roommate, Bellamy," she told him, reaching out to gently touch his hand.  "Better than I could have dreamed."

"Why do you say that like I'm leaving?" he asked softly.  His fingers brushed across hers and she shivered slightly.

"Well, aren't you?  Eventually?"

He looked away but his thumb was still gently stroking across the back of her hand.  "Not right now.  Not for a while."  He looked back and his eyes were piercing.  "The semester's barely even started."

She nodded.  "Good."

It didn't slip her attention that at some point his fingers had tangled with hers.  That they were holding hands.  That that was a very distinctly couplish action but they weren't a couple.

She didn't care.  And judging from the look in Bellamy's eye, neither did he.

The awkwardness between them dissolved after that.

And Clarke would love to be able to say that at some point she let go of her platonic roommate's hand.  But if she did that would be a lie.  Because they continued to hold hands through dessert.  And after she'd signed the check, he'd let go of her hand only long enough to stand, take her jacket from the back of her chair and hold it out for her so she could slip her arms through the sleeves.

Then his arm was around her small of her back and she was fit into his side and it was like that night they'd shared a bed but better.  Because this time they were both awake and very much not drunk and  _Jesus Christ_ , she needed help.

Clarke usually drove one handed.  Scratch that she  _always_ drove one handed.

She drove them home from dinner with both hands on the steering wheel, staring resolutely out the windshield.  There was a silence between them but it wasn't awkward.  Instead it was comfortable, easy.  Bellamy's hands were folded neatly in his lap.  She knew this because she kept looking at them.

She pulled into her parking spot in front of her building and turned off the engine.  Neither of them made any effort to move.  As soon as they unclicked their seatbelts, opened their doors, the easy and effortless atmosphere of the second half of dinner and the car ride would be broken.

"Thank you again, Clarke," Bellamy said quietly after they'd been sitting in silence for what felt like minutes.  "I had a really great time tonight."

He was looking at her with an intensity that locked her gaze into his.  "Me, too," she replied.

He smiled.  The corners of her own mouth tipped up.  Then he was leaning towards her across the console and his lips were pressing against her cheek, lingering for a moment longer than was probably necessary before he pulled away.

She waited until he'd turned away to grab her purse out of the backseat (seriously, could he  _stop?_ ) and to unbuckle his seatbelt before gently touching her cheek where he'd kissed her.

Friends kissed friends on the cheek right?  And friends looked at friends the way Bellamy had been looking at her all evening.  Yes, they absolutely did.  Because anything else would mean breaching a subject that Clarke didn't want to go anywhere near.

 _Don't mess with my brother, Clarke_.

Octavia's words rung in her ear.  She wasn't trying to mess with Bellamy.  But what if she was by accident?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, if you like my brother, all you have to do is tell me.”  
> “I do like your brother. I have no trouble telling you that,” Clarke replied simply.  
> Octavia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult.”  
> “I’m not being difficult. You asked if I like your brother. I do."

Clarke opened her front door and shrieked, jumping back into Bellamy who reached out to steady her.

“Hey, guys,” Octavia said from where she was sitting on the couch, socked feet up on Clarke’s coffee table, flipping through a gossip magazine.  “How was dinner?”

When neither Clarke nor Bellamy said anything in response, Octavia looked up, frowning.  “You okay?”

Clarke took a few tottering steps into her apartment and raised a hand, collecting her thoughts.  “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“I never left,” Octavia said simply, scrutinizing the _Who Wore It Best_ page.  “Raven has Wick over.”

“Yes, but you don’t _live_ here.  Didn’t you…I don’t know, think about warning me that you were in my apartment so _that_ didn’t happen?” She gestured backwards, almost hitting Bellamy in the face.

He grunted and ducked her arm, heading for his bedroom.  He ruffled Octavia’s hair on the way and she momentarily turned away from Clarke to say, “hey, big brother.”

He whispered back something too low for Clarke to make out and padded into his room.  It wasn’t until his door snapped shut that Octavia threw aside the magazine, all pretense gone.

“Okay,” she said excitedly, leaning forward, balancing her arms across her knees, “tell me everything.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and dropped into an armchair, pulling off her heels and massaging her feet.  “Wick isn’t really over is he?”

Octavia made a dismissive gestured.  “What do you think I am, an amateur?  Of course he is.”  She grinned.  “I might have suggested to Raven that she invited him over but yeah, he’s there.”

Clarke sighed.  “God.  What did I do to deserve such ridiculous friends.”

“Just be glad I did tell her to bring him over or she might be here, too.”

Clarke looked up and glared at her.  Octavia beamed back.  Clarke moaned.

“I’m _tired_ , Octavia.”

“And I don’t give a fuck.  I want to hear all about your date with my brother.”

“Shhhh,” Clarke hissed, suddenly frantic.  “Don’t say that, it wasn’t a date!”  Her voice dropped an octave.

Octavia gave her a sideways look.  “Whoa there, someone’s jumpy.”

Clarke glared.

Octavia grinned again.  “You know, Clarke, if you were more nonchalant about this whole thing I wouldn’t be pushing it so hard.”

Clarke continued to glare.

“Look, if you like my brother, all you have to do is tell me.”

“I do like your brother.  I have no trouble telling you that,” Clarke replied simply.

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult.  You asked if I like your brother.  I do. Otherwise why would I be letting him live with me?”

Octavia heaved a sigh.  “That’s not what I was asking and you know it.”

Clarke rubbed a hand over her eyes, leaning it back against the back of her chair.  “I’m probably going to regret saying this but why don’t you just get to the point?”

Octavia was silent for a long minute.  Clarke mentally chastised herself for asking.

“I need to know if you’re interested in my brother,” Octavia said finally.  “As more than a friend.”

She was staring at Clarke intently but not in a threatening way.  Clarke swallowed.

“I’m not.”

Octavia nodded.  “Okay.  That’s all I wanted to know.”  She stood and pulled her coat off the back of her chair.  “I’m going to go kick Kyle out of my apartment so I can get some sleep.”

Clarke pushed herself out of the chair warily.  “You’re more than welcome to stay,” she said slowly.

Octavia smiled and shook her head.  “Thanks, Clarke, but I don’t want to be in your hair.  You and Bell both have work tomorrow.  And no offense, but I don’t really want to sleep on the couch.”  She smiled and reached out to hug Clarke.  “You had fun at dinner though, right?”

Clarke thought back to the evening.  To Bellamy’s easy smile when he looked at her and how vehemently he had insisted _multiple times_ that he was going to pay for dinner even though the point of the whole evening had been for her to thank him.  Back to the soft and comfortable, yet still thrilling, feeling of his hand in hers.  Their hands had been out in the open in plain view of everyone around them and yet the action had felt secret, special, _risky_.

“Yeah,” Clarke said honestly.  “It was a great night.”

Octavia pecked her on the cheek.  “Great.  Say good night to Bell for me.”

Clarke nodded.  “I will.  Good luck with Wick and Raven.”

Octavia smiled again.  “She owes me.  I did her laundry last week.”

Clarke laughed.  “Night, O.”

Octavia saluted her as she closed the door behind her.

Clarke filled up a glass of water in the sink and crossed the apartment to her bedroom.  She put the water on the bedside table and unzipped her dress, stepping out of it and falling face first onto her bed.

She groaned into her sheets and inhaled then made a face.

She needed to wash her sheets.  Badly.

It also said something bad that her first thought was maybe she’d be able to get Bellamy to do it.

 _Do you like my brother?_ Octavia had asked.  And Clarke had avoided the question.

Because of course from the beginning she’d understood what Octavia had been getting at.  And Clarke also knew that Octavia probably wouldn’t give a fuck if Clarke did admit that she might have been developing the smallest of crushes on her brother.  In fact, she’d probably be ecstatic, as would Raven.  It had been an embarrassingly long time since Clarke had even casually dated someone and she knew that both O and Raven had seriously considered taking her out, getting her drunk, and pushing her at the first not-creepy looking guy who showed interest.

She groaned again.

Because now whenever she thought about going out exclusively with the intention of picking up guys, only one physique came into her mind.  Tanned skin.  Freckles.  Dark hair twisting into curls that she ached to run her fingers through.  Warm brown eyes that sparkled with laughter.

Clarke rolled over onto her back and threw an arm over her face.  “Jesus Christ, Griffin,” she muttered.  “You need to get yourself together.”

Lying on her bed in the dark in only her underwear, Clarke let herself admit for the first time that she just might have developed a crush on Bellamy Blake.

 

Clarke dragged herself out of bed the next morning to the smell of caffeine.  She slouched into the kitchen, still wearing her pajamas and sporting impressive bed head to find a much too chipper Bellamy stirring sugar into her mug.

He smiled and her stomach jumped a little.  She shuffled forward and took it from him, careful not to let their fingers brush.

“Sleep well?” he asked, still smiling.

Clarke suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes.  Her cheeks flushed as her extremely vivid and _really really_ nice dream from the night before came flooding back.  It had starred both of them in a capacity that she would never admit to anyone.  But _damn_ if she hadn’t enjoyed it.

 _He’s your roommate, Clarke_ , she reminded herself.  _Your roommate and your friend and Octavia’s brother_.

She’d told herself that same mantra the night before.  Clearly it hadn’t done a whole lot.

“Yeah,” she mumbled around a sip of coffee.  It was perfect, as usual.  “Thanks.”  She lifted the cup in his direction.

“No problem.”  He studied her over the rim of his own mug and asked, in a joking tone, “are you going to ask me how I slept?”

Clarke’s dream bubbled popped.  She felt like she could breathe again.  Sure, Bellamy wasn’t a mind reader.  But God only knew he probably would have been able to see the wild images running through her head, reflected in her eyes.

“How _did_ you sleep, Bellamy?” she asked, joking in her voice.

He laughed and ducked his head.  “Excellently, thank you, Clarke.”

Their eyes met again.  Clarke’s breath caught. There was an intensity in Bellamy’s eyes that simultaneously made her want to kiss him and run away.  She forced herself to stay put.

“Good,” she managed.

“What did my sister want?”  His voice was airy but he was still looking at her like he wanted to eat her whole.  She probably wouldn’t protest.

Clarke shrugged.  “She was just asking about dinner,” she said slowly, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she thought it was.  “You know what O’s like.”

Bellamy smiled and nodded.  “Good.  I was worried that she was giving you crap about us being a…well, a couple.”

Clarke choked on her laugh.  “No,” she said when she’d gotten her breath back.  “Of course not.”  She paused.  “Anyway, I can handle your sister just fine.”

Bellamy’s smile widened into a full-fledged grin.  Clarke’s heart jerked.  She couldn't look away.

 _Oh no no no_ , she thought. _I_ _’m completely and royally fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Rave,” Clarke said tiredly, “everyone knows by now that your birthday doesn’t end until all of us are so drunk we can’t stand up straight.”  
> Raven beamed. “Damn straight.”  
> “As long as there are chocolate martinis, there are going to be no problems,” Octavia said decidedly.  
> Clarke and Raven both sighed audibly. Bellamy cuffed her upside the head and she swatted at him.  
> “You are not ordering chocolate martinis,” he informed her. “Or I am disowning you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to this fic's playlist [here.](http://8tracks.com/willaphyx/it-was-always-you) And drop me a comment/review here or on Tumblr if you like the chapter!

Raven turned 28 on a Friday.

And the entire week leading up to her birthday, she regaled anyone and everyone who would listen with how much fun they were going to have while simultaneously refusing to divulge the location of her party.  Though maybe, ‘party’ wasn’t the right word, Clarke thought as she dried dishes on Thursday afternoon.  Raven’s last three birthdays had consisted of everyone getting too drunk to function at either a male strip club, sports bar, or, Clarke’s personal favorite, a karaoke bar, which they had been kicked out of once Octavia climbed onto the bar.

Just as she was hanging up the dishtowel her phone lit up with a text from Raven: _LoverBoy’s here.  Trouble in paradise?_

Clarke chuckled and padded into the living room, typing out her response as she went: **_He needs to talk to O about something_.**

 _Oooooh_ , Raven shot back.  _I wonder what._

Clarke rolled her eyes.  **_Fuck you, Reyes._**

_You only wish, Griffin._

Laughing, she threw her phone onto her couch and then fell headfirst into the cushions, letting out a deep sigh.

She was still lying there an hour later when she heard his key turn in the lock and he toed off his shoes in the corner.

“Hey,” he said softly after the thump of his messenger bag into an armchair.  “You okay?”

She muttered something indiscernible into the pillow and he laughed and patted her shoulder.

“What you need is to sleep.”

She rolled her head to the side.  “No time to sleep,” she replied.

“Well, we can’t have you passing out in the middle of whatever Raven’s got planned for tomorrow,” he said, a smile in her voice.  “Now, come on, up you get, princess.  Bed.”

She grumbled all the way to her room but let him tug her along anyway.

She’d been working overtime at her studio over the last couple of days, hauling in some long nights, usually tiptoeing in at three AM to find Bellamy camped out on the sofa in an uncomfortable position, clearly where he’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come home.  She’d crawl over to him, shake him awake to reassure him that she had, in fact, gotten home safely and had not been murdered, and then she’d drag herself into her bedroom and collapse, fully clothed, onto her bed, staying awake just long enough to hear Bellamy’s own door _snick_ shut.

It was oddly endearing and definitely not something she’d told Raven or Octavia about.  They both gave her enough shit already.

He watched from her doorway until she’d dutifully climbed under her covers and pulled them up to her chin.  He flashed her a smile, turned out the lights, and, as he was closing the door, whispered, “Good night, Clarke.”

She woke up in the dark, disoriented and blinking, wondering why she was sleeping in her jeans and why it was so dark outside.  Then the afternoon came flooding back to her: her seemingly perpetual exhaustion, the texts from Raven, and Bellamy all but forcing her into bed.

She swung her legs out, hissing at the cold floor under her bare feet and standing gingerly.  The clock on her nightstand flashed 1:45 at her, AM judging from the inky blackness of the sky she could make out through her window.  She scrubbed a hand through her hair and opened her door, grabbing a book off her nightstand and headed of the kitchen to maybe make herself some hot chocolate.

Bellamy was sprawled out on the couch, so still she thought he might have been asleep, the lights of the TV coloring his face.  He shifted when he saw her enter the room, and pressed pause.  The screen froze on a reenactment of D-Day.

“You feel better?” he asked, his voice a bit crackly.

Clarke padded past him into the kitchen, opening the cabinets and pulling the milk out of the fridge.

“Yeah,” she said seriously.  “It’s been a crazy few days.”

She heard Bellamy chuckle as he slid into the room behind her.  “You’ve been dead on your feet princess.”

She shot him a frustrated look. “I have work to do.  It’s my busiest time of the year, Bellamy.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket and smiled just slightly.  Clarke forced herself to look away.  _Stop staring at your platonic roommate, Griffin_ , she scolded.

“I know.  Still doesn’t mean you get to kill yourself.  You can’t leave me all alone tomorrow.”  He checked his watch.  “Or I guess today.”

Clarke threw her head back and laughed.  “So _that’s_ what this is all about.  ‘You can’t fall asleep at Raven’s party, Clarke’ translates into ‘don’t leave me alone with them, Clarke.’  Is that how it is?”

He shrugged.  “Well, yeah.  Raven scares me a little.”

“Good,” Clarke said seriously.  “If she doesn’t there’s something wrong with you.”

He snorted a little at that and turned to shuffle back into the living room.  “Make me some of that hot chocolate, would you?”

Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled.  “Pushy pushy!” she called back.

“Watch it, Griffin,” came his indignant reply.  “I washed all your sheets this week and God help me that was disgusting.  I deserve a little pampering.”

She laughed into the cocoa mix, covering the sound by turning on the microwave.

“Pampering?” she asked, a few minutes later as she handed him a steaming hot mug.  “What are you, a middle-aged woman?”

He grinned up at her, all boyish, with sparkling eyes and mussed hair, and yesterday’s t-shirt and she felt her heart squeeze.

 _Fuck_ , she thought.  _Fuck fuck fuck_.

They stayed like that, each curled up into their own side of the couch like always, feet touching just barely in the middle.  Bellamy’s worn athletic socks were scratchy against her own bare toes but she didn’t care.  So instead she just sipped at her hot chocolate and watched as the Allies took the beaches of Normandy, mind consumed with thoughts of how the hell she’d here and more importantly, how to fix it.

 

That evening found Clarke squished into the backseat of Raven’s car between Octavia and the window, staring aimlessly out as the streetlights flashed past in long strips of white.  Raven had been gabbering on about something since she, Wick, and O had appeared at her front door to pick up her and Bellamy fifteen minutes ago, but Clarke was tuning it all out, resting her forehead against the window, cherishing the cool of the glass against her feverish skin.

They ended up at some bar Clarke had never heard of a couple towns over.  The parking lot was packed and the heavy beat of bass was filtering out through the open door.

Raven was grinning as she got out of the car and said, “I don’t know about you all, but I am ready to get _trashed_.”

“Rave,” Clarke said tiredly, “everyone knows by now that your birthday doesn’t end until all of us are so drunk we can’t stand up straight.”

Raven beamed.  “Damn straight.”

“As long as there are chocolate martinis, there are going to be no problems,” Octavia said decidedly.

Clarke and Raven both sighed audibly.  Bellamy cuffed her upside the head and she swatted at him.

“You are not ordering chocolate martinis,” he informed her.  “Or I am disowning you.”

“I’m a grown ass adult,” she said crossly as they pushed the door the rest of the way open, stepping in.  “And I can do whatever I want.”

“Legal disownment it is, then,” Bellamy said, straight faced.

Clarke bit down on her lip to disguise her laugh.

Raven poked a finger into Bellamy’s chest.  “You’re on first round drink duty.”

He rolled his eyes but nodded.  “And what can I get for the lady?”

Raven gave him a disgusted look. “You can pull that shit with Clarke but keep it the hell away from me.”

Bellamy grinned. “What do you want to drink, Raven.”

“Just get her a pitcher of whatever’s on tap,” Clarke said, slapping him on the back.  “It’ll be cheaper for all of us later.  And get me a Rum and Coke.”

He tipped an imaginary hat and disappeared into the crowd.  Raven hauled herself onto a chair at a bar-top table and leveled a look at Octavia.  “Your brother is such a nerd, it’s sickening.”

Octavia sighed.  “You’re telling me,” she muttered.

Wick slipped onto the chair next Raven and lightly looped an arm around the back of her chair, an awfully couple-y behavior, the likes of which Raven despised.  Raven didn’t seem to notice but judging from the shocked look on her face, Octavia definitely did.  She and Clarke shared a confused glance that was broken by Bellamy returning with the requested pitcher of beer, three glasses, Clarke’s rum and Coke and… a chocolate martini, which he slid in front of his sister.  She beamed at him and messily kissed his cheek.

“You’re the _best_ , Bell,” she said brightly, taking a large sip.

Bellamy’s expression was dark as he poured himself a glass of beer and downed half of it in one gulp.  “Yeah, well, you’re buying the rest of them.  The look the bartender gave me when I asked for a chocolate martini.”  He shuddered.

Clarke and Raven laughed.  Octavia glowered at him.  He downed the rest of the beer, reaching for the pitcher again, pouring a glass for Raven and Wick this time as well.

“Cheers to Raven almost being an old maid,” Octavia said, raising her glass.

Their glasses clinked together, everyone but Raven and Bellamy smiling.

“If she’s an old maid,” the latter asked, “what does that make me?”

“A dinosaur,” Octavia answered.

Clarke snorted.  Wick was grinning.

“Uncalled for,” Bellamy challenged.

His sister grinned back at him, teasing.  “You asked.”

Clarke elbowed him.  “You did,” she whispered into his ear, trying not to notice how good he smelled but damn it, his neck was right there and he kind of smelled like old paper and the rain and her head was spinning.

He shoved her lightly.  She squeaked. He grinned at her and she found herself returning it.

Now Bellamy was the one who raised his glass.  “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” he announced and they all cheered.

“So let’s get _trashed_ ,” Octavia added, knocking back her glass.  They all followed.

Two hours later, Clarke was on her fourth (or was it her fifth?) drink and her head was swimming and she was laughing harder than she had in years.

“This is definitely the best birthday you’ve had in years,” she was telling Raven, whose cheeks were a bit red.  Wick’s arm was around her waist now, and she was practically in his lap.  Clarke knew that if she’d been sober she would have been shocked but in her tipsy (okay, she was probably drunk, yeah, she was) state it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.  “It’s so nice to not be groped by creepy guys.”

Raven and Octavia shared a grin.

“What?” Clarke demanded, taking another large gulp of her drink.

“I’m pretty sure that has more to do with Bellamy than the locale,” Octavia told her pointedly.

Clarke leaned into the table and hissed, “ _What?”_

Thankfully, Bellamy had left the table a couple minutes before to refill their beer pitcher but Wick had heard.  Though, judging from the not-shocked look on his face she guessed he’d heard enough of this to not be surprised when it came up.

“He’s being all _protective_ ,” Octavia added and Raven nodded seriously.

“True,” Wick said, raising his eyebrows and finishing off his glass.  “He’s been glaring at anyone who so much as looks at you.”

“So he’s being nice,” she muttered.  “So what.”

Raven choked on her next sip.  “Right, Clarke babe, tell yourself that.”

“We’re not having this conversation again,” Clarke snapped back, pushing herself off her stool and wobbling a little.  Yep, definitely drunk.

But then there was a steadying hand on her hip and a familiar chuckle in her ear.  “You all right there, princess?” Bellamy asked.

He didn’t remove his hand, she noticed.  It felt like his skin was burning hers through the thin material of her tank top.  Clarke’s eyes shot to Octavia who mouthed, _“protective”_ at her, winking.

Clarke barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out.

“Yeah,” she breathed, turning to look at him.  “Just fine.”

“Well, since you’re up, you want to dance?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, probably much faster than she should have, and his hand slid from her waist to wrap around her own, tugging her out into the mass of couples.

Within barely a minute Clarke had decided that this was a very bad idea.  Because she and Bellamy Blake fit together _perfectly_ and when she was this close to him she couldn’t fight against the swell of her growing attraction bearing down on her.  Not when he smelled that good and felt that good and _moved_ that good.

His hands wrapped around her hips, fingers pressing up her rib cage and into her back as her arms looped around his neck, hands fingering the tendrils of hair at his neck.  His skin was warm to the touch and she just might have felt him shiver when her pinky brushed the back of his neck.

But then again, that might have been her imagination.

The beat of the bass was intoxicating and Clarke was flying high on what had definitely been too much rum.  She was grinning as Bellamy’s arm tightened around her, drawing her closer, until there was no distance between the two of them, their bodies sandwiched together in the best possible way.  Her rapid breaths mingled with his in the centimeters of space between their faces and she knew, _she knew_ , that this was an extremely bad idea.

He was her best friend’s brother, her roommate, but most importantly, he was her friend.

And Clarke didn’t dance like this with her friends.

She didn’t feel electrified when her body was pressed up against theirs, with their breath in her ear, stirring her hair.  She didn’t feel herself flush from the touch of their skin against hers.  She didn’t get drunk on their scent.  She didn’t want to kiss them with everything in her.

And _fuck_ Clarke had never wanted anything more than to kiss Bellamy squarely on the mouth and never stop.

His eyes were bright and his pupils wide and his breath wafted across her face.

She swallowed, unable to move her eyes from his.  He leaned in just slightly and she mimicked the motion.  She could feel his breath on her lips now and they parted in anticipation as her eyes closed.

And then someone bumped into her forcefully, knocking her to the side and nearly out of Bellamy’s arms.

And then the spell was broken.

Bellamy was awkward and shuffling, unable to meet her gaze, fingers worrying though his hair.  And Clarke was quickly turning red, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

 _So close_ , she thought.

But so close to what?  So close to a drunk make out session with her roommate on the dance floor of the bar they were at for one of her best friends’ birthdays.  What had she been _thinking?_

“We should get back,” she said quietly and to her relief, Bellamy nodded, offering her the smallest of smiles that she returned.

She also absolutely resisted the urge to grab his hand as they carefully wound their way through the crowd back to their friends.

If Raven, Octavia, or Wick noticed the change between Clarke and Bellamy they didn’t point it out. Instead, they finished their drinks, closed up their tabs, and hailed a couple of cabs.  Clarke and Bellamy slid into the back of one, waving goodbye to the other three who got into the second.  They didn’t speak on the way back to Clarke’s apartment.

They mounted the stairs in more awkward silence as Clarke wracked up the courage to look at him, say something to him.

“Look, Clarke—” he said as soon as the door closed and she said, “Bell, I—”

They both stopped, staring at each other.

Clarke made a vague gesture with her hand.  “You go first.”

“Right, um.”  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about earlier. What happened when we were…dancing.”  The word sounded like it was wrenched from his throat.

Clarke pasted on a fake smile.  “It’s fine, Bell.”

“It’s just, I was, who am I kidding, _am_ , really really _really_ drunk and I’m very clearly not thinking straight and I shouldn’t have done that.  I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

There was a distinctly puppy dog-ish look in his eyes that made Clarke want to melt.  Instead, she forced herself to stand up straighter, look him in the eye, fight how crumpled she felt on the inside.

“It’s not going to be,” she said fairly.  At least that’s what she was going for.  “It’s fine, Bell.  Really.”

He studied her.  “So we’re good?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.  “Good.”

He nodded sharply.  “Okay.  Good night, Clarke.  See you in the morning.”

“Night, Bellamy.”

She stood in the living room, still wearing her shoes and jacket, purse slung over her shoulder, until she heard his door close.  Then she collapsed into a chair and let her head fall into her hands.

She certainly had gotten herself into a right mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke never would have admitted it to anyone, but she absolutely was crossing off days in her head as they got closer and closer to the end of Bellamy’s semester and the day that he would be going home.
> 
> Home.
> 
> The word struck Clarke in the gut every time she thought about it. Because as much as this apartment felt like home to her, as much as Raven and Octavia and Lincoln and Jasper and Monty and Miller had become family to her, it wasn’t the same for Bellamy, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, it’s taken absolutely FOREVER to get this out and I’m so so sorry about that. But here we are, almost done with this fic! It’s been a wild ride and I’m super excited for you guys to read this chapter and to write the next one, which will absolutely be up sooner than this.

If Raven’s birthday was iconic, the hangovers Clarke suffered the day after were legendary. And this year was no different. She peeled her eyes open to find herself sprawled upside down in her bed, feet touching her headboard, staring up at the blinking light on her ceiling’s smoke detector. There was a distinct pounding behind her eyes, as if someone was hitting the inside of her skull with a hammer, and even the weak light that made it through the black out curtains she’d somehow managed to put up last night hurt her eyes.

She stumbled out of bed, dizzy and catching herself on her bedside table, and dragged on the first articles of clothes she could find: paint-stained sweatpants and a tank top that she was pretty sure had been Octavia’s at some point. With her hair up in a messy ponytail and a quick check in the mirror for raccoon eyes, she decided she was ready to drag herself into the kitchen in search of food.

Bellamy, thank God, didn’t look much better than she did, huddled on the couch in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before, head tipped back against the wall, a bag of frozen peas she hadn’t even known she had resting on his forehead. She crept past him into the kitchen and dug a clean glass out of the dishwasher, filling it and downing it.

She was filling it again when his voice, rough and raspy, came from the doorway. “You look like shit, Griffin.”

She jumped and nearly dropped the glass, turning to glare. “Yeah, because you’re the picture of health,” she snapped back, turning off the tap and taking a sip.

“Is that my sister’s shirt?” he asked, stepping closer.

Clarke looked down. “Probably.”

He raised and eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“You going to judge or do you want to go find a 24 hour diner and pack ourselves full of grease?”

“Definitely the grease.”

“Go put on a different shirt then. I’m not going out with you looking like that.”

This was a blatant lie. Clarke would have gone out with Bellamy if he was wearing a plastic bag. And yes, she did realize how ridiculous this made her sound.

They ended up at some place called Sadie’s All-Night Cafe, which looked like it had been transplanted out of the 1950s and dumped into an extremely sketchy strip mall with an absurd amount of graffiti and too small parking spaces fifteen minutes away from Clarke’s apartment. But it was charming in that “way too much red vinyl, and Jesus is that floor made of linoleum?” kind of way. They were shown to a booth by the hostess and presented with over-laminated menus that were the height of Clarke’s torso. She zeroed right in on the section titled “Sadie’s Famous Bacon” and perused it.

“Come here often?” Bellamy asked lamely when she put her menu down.

She glared. “That is one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said.”

“Well, in my defense, I don’t often say dumb things.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He flashed her a grin. “But you love me anyways, don’t you, princess?”

There was a large lump in Clarke’s throat. She opened her mouth, ready to fire back a snappy retort but none came. She closed her mouth, looked down, at the sparkling white surface of the table. Bellamy coughed.

“Right, sorry,” he said quietly.

In a different time, a different place, if they were different people, Clarke wouldn’t have looked away. She would have looked him right in the eye and, in all seriousness, said yes, yes, I am.

But this was hardly the time or the place for that. He was her best friend’s brother. He was her roommate. He was leaving at the end of the semester. They were Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake, and they didn’t work. They never would.

Clarke was having flashbacks to the morning after they met when their waiter appeared and Clarke just asked for bacon. Bellamy was hiding his smile poorly, her way of knowing that he was thinking the same thing.

“Seems like you’ve got a tired and true remedy,” he said conversationally after they’d been given water.

She shrugged. “I’ve got no time for your judgement, Blake.”

He laughed. Clarke felt herself smile.

“Now I know what to get you for Christmas,” he said, still half-smiling.

Clarke felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. _Christmas_. It was still only October, so the holiday was months away. And it wasn’t really that she hadn’t been expecting the two of them to exchange gifts. It was that he was. Somewhere along the line Bellamy had made the conscious decision that he was going to get her a Christmas present. The thought filled her with nervous energy.

 _You are in so over your head, Griffin_ , she thought weakly, sipping at her water to avoid having to respond.

If he found the lapse in conversation weird, Bellamy didn’t show it, just leaned back on his side of the booth, knee tapping briefly into hers (and no, of course that didn’t make her pulse beat just a bit faster for a moment), turning his head to look out the window. They maintained this comfortable silence until their food was delivered, steaming hot and delectable smelling.

Clarke immediately bit into a piece of bacon and moaned. Bellamy gave her a weird look. She blushed.

“So is Raven’s birthday always like that?” he asked, carefully cutting a square of his French toast.

“Usually it’s worse,” she answered honestly. “This year was remarkably laid back.”

He stared. “You call _that_ laid back?”

Clarke forced a smile. “Five years ago we played beer pong with vodka.”

“Who won?”

She grinned. “Me.”

“That’s a girl.”

She was on the verge of saying something else when a surprised, and all-too-familiar, voice behind her cut her off. “Clarke? Is that you?”

Clarke spun in the booth, already knowing who she would find, grinning at her in that familiar way that had caused her to fall head over heels with another girl’s boyfriend.

“Finn,” she sighed. “Hi.”

If he noticed the dejected tone in her voice, he didn’t let on, just grinned wider and sidled up to their table. His eyes swept across Clarke’s plate, piled with bacon and eggs, and Bellamy’s French toast, slathered with syrup and butter and grinned.

“Rough night?”  
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Bellamy snapped before Clarke had the chance to say anything.

She glanced at him, concerned, to find his hand clenched into a fist and a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Bell,” she said quietly, reaching out to touch the hand on the table. He didn’t respond.

“No need to get like that, man,” Finn replied easily, but there was a guarded look in his eyes now. He’d struck a nerve and he knew it. “Who are you anyway?”

If Bellamy hadn’t had such a good handle on his anger he probably would have been at Finn’s throat. The sneering tone her ex-boyfriend’s voice made Clarke want to punch him out herself.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business either,” Bellamy snarled.

Finn rolled his eyes and turned to Clarke. “Well, seeing as I came over her to talk to Clarke, I don’t think it even really matters.”

He grinned at her in that way that used to make her knees go weak and her cheeks flush. Now it just made her want to go take a shower.

“I don’t think there even needs to be a conversation,” she said tiredly. “I said everything I could ever want to say to you the last time we spoke.”

“Come on, Clarke, let’s just catch up! It’s been years!”

She sighed then turned more towards him. “Fine. I’ve been fine, how have you been?”

His eyes briefly flitted to the empty space between Clarke’s thigh and the edge of the bench. She closed the distance by putting a foot up. He frowned briefly.

“Great, great. I heard you dropped out of med school?”

She quickly bit back a “how the hell did you hear about that?” and nodded. Bellamy was still tense across the table but it looked like he had relaxed enough to go back to eating his breakfast.

“What are you doing now?”  
“I’m an artist. And I teach at a middle school in town a couple days a week.”

Finn nodded. “That’s nice.”  
“And you?” she asked, not really caring, but figuring that as long as he wasn’t going away, she might as well be polite.

“Oh, I got into business,” he said, that smarmy smile back.

Clarke forced herself to smile in return. “Nice,” was all she managed.

“And what about you?” Finn had directed this question to Bellamy, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to not answer the question, if only to spite the other man.

“He’s a history professor,” Clarke answered quickly before Bellamy had the opportunity to think up something nasty in response. “He’s in town filling a visiting professorship.”

“That must be fascinating.” Clarke couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Judging from Bellamy’s murderous glance, he didn’t care how Finn had meant it.

Clarke plastered on a fake smile and said, “Nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I intruded there didn’t I?” he laughed as if he didn’t think this was the case.

Bellamy’s grin was sharklike as he said, “Lovely meeting you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Finn straightened as she looked between Clarke and Bellamy. “From who?”

“Me and Raven,” Clarke said, smiling for real for the first time at the panicked look on his face.

“Well, I’ll be going then.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Bellamy said through another predatory smile.

It wasn’t until Finn had taken a seat at a booth across the restaurant that Bellamy turned to her, suddenly all business, eyes widened. “You dated _that_?”

“I was in college!” she protested. “Like you didn’t date anyone totally creepy in college.”

“I didn’t date in college,” he said, as if this was obvious.

“Right.”

“I didn’t. I just hooked up with girls and then never called them back.”

“So worse than dating a Finn,” she stated.

Bellamy threw another disgusted glance in her ex-boyfriend’s direction. “No, absolutely not worse.”

She shook her head and shoved a forkful of eggs in her mouth. “Whatever you say, Blake.”

He grinned. “Can I have some of your bacon?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you haven’t been stealing it since we got here.”

He flushed. She pushed her plate towards him. He gave her a shy smile that left her heart in her throat.

 

Over the next few days they fell back into their regular routine. Clarke either went to school or her studio in the mornings and Bellamy left to teach. Sometimes they met up for lunch if they both had the time but often their schedules proved too busy and they caught up over dinner, which they took turn making. Then there was usually an hour or two of watching whatever was oldest in the DVR (Bellamy had been around long enough now that his history documentaries were starting to get mixed in with Clarke’s reality television) while they ate their way through a bag of potato chips.

It was nice. Clarke felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. And she never would have admitted it to anyone, but she absolutely was crossing off days in her head as they got closer and closer to the end of Bellamy’s semester and the day that he would be going home.

 _Home_.

The word struck Clarke in the gut every time she thought about it. Because as much as this apartment felt like home to her, as much as Raven and Octavia and Lincoln and Jasper and Monty and Miller had become family to her, it wasn’t the same for Bellamy, not really.

Sometimes she managed to forget that he had a life back on the other side of the country. A life with a more permanent job, and other friends that probably missed him and who he probably missed. Hell, he might have even had a girlfriend he broke up with before he took the position. A girlfriend he might be going back to when he moved back.

So, really, what, in the long run, was Clarke Griffin to Bellamy Blake?  
The thought made her stomach churn.

 

“What were you doing at one of my brother’s lectures?” Octavia demanded at lunch one day, not quite as intense of a question as she was probably intending because of the noodles she was forking into her mouth.

Clarke shrugged. “Why do you care?”

“Clarke, dear, don’t pull that crap with me.”

 

As her personal workload slowed, Clarke had started going to campus with Bellamy one or two days a week instead of her studio, sitting on the quad while he was in class, sketching, or wandering, looking at the sweeping architecture of the buildings in awe.

One day she slipped into his lecture hall two minutes before he was due to start class, taking a seat in the back and pulling out her sketchpad, content to just listen to his words wash over her as she started finishing shading on a flower bed she’d seen the last time she was on campus.

But somehow, about halfway through his lecture on the start of the fall of the Roman Empire, Clarke had flipped pages and started sketching Bellamy’s face instead, drawing from memory, as she added that scar just below his left eye that she kept meaning to ask him about and shorter hair because he really needed to get it cut.

She got so lost in her drawing and Bellamy’s words that she didn’t even note the time and it took the flurries of activity around her to realize that class had ended.

Clarke took extra time to pack up her charcoal so she could watch as Bellamy put away his own things and, even after he looked up and caught her gaze, clearly surprised to find her there, she still looked back, smiling just slightly.

“Fancy finding you here,” he said warmly, a smile stretching across his face and brightening up his eyes, as she joined him at the door, which he held open for her.

She passed into the nearly empty hall and returned the smile. “You’re a good lecturer.”

He ducked his head, cheeks slightly pink. “Thank you.” His eyes slid to the sketchbook she was still holding in one hand. “Can I see what you were drawing?”  
Unconsciously her hand had clenched around the book’s spine as she shook her head, perhaps a bit too violently. “It’s private,” she said.

Bellamy cocked his head to the side, evidently curious, but didn’t say anything other than, “all right, you got time for a sandwich?”

 

“I like history,” Clarke answered honestly.

Octavia’s eyes narrowed. “Please.”

“What?”  
“You like my brother, is more like it.”

Clarke almost choked on her next bite. “I _what_?” she wheezed.

“It’s alarmingly obvious,” Octavia continued thoughtfully. “I honestly can’t believe that I didn’t see it before. Raven was going on and on about it but I kept telling her she was seeing things.”

“Both of you are seeing things,” Clarke said weakly.

“No, I don’t think so.” O tilted her head to the side. “I know you. And I know my brother.”

Clarke frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Octavia grinned. “If you’re not into him, it doesn’t matter.” She took another bite of noodles. “Remind me, when’s your next art show again?”

“Two weeks from Wednesday,” Clarke answered robotically, mind still clicking through what Octavia had said about knowing her brother and failing to come up with a suitable answer.

Later, when she said goodbye to Octavia in the parking lot, the other girl tapped her arm and said, “what I meant was that my brother’s got an embarrassingly massive crush on you, too.”

Clarke froze. “That’s impossible. Not that it matters anyway,” she added quickly. “Since I don’t like him that way.”

“So we can add denial to the ever-growing list of your many talents,” Octavia deadpanned, ducking when Clarke moved to slap her. “Don’t shoot the messenger!” Octavia insisted, holding her hands up. “Just think about it, all right?” she said, more softly.

“Think about what?”

“Bellamy. Don’t forget that he’s leaving, Clarke--”

“How the hell could I forget that?”

“Would you _let me finish_?”

Clarke bit her lip.

“Thank you. What I _was going to say_ ,” Octavia continued. “Is that you should be sure not to leave anything unsaid before he goes.” She gave Clarke a meaningful look then swooped up to kiss her on the cheek. “Bye, babe, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said distantly, still working over what Octavia had meant.

Should she say something to him before he left? And even if she did, what would it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke rocketed to her feet, pointing angrily at him. “You dirty rotten cheater! I can’t believe you!”  
> “And no,” he said calmly, “I don’t have any eight’s.”  
> Clarke gaped. “I don’t believe it,” she repeated, sitting down and taking a shot.  
> “You know, princess,” he said after a pause, still considering his own cards. “You’re pretty hot when you’re angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, ladies and gentlemen! The end! It’s been such a wonderful ride with all of you and I would just like to say thank you so much for your support of this story and my writing in general. It means more to me than I could ever express.

Clarke woke up staring at a piece of her own artwork, hung on a familiar wall, but in a bed that wasn’t hers.

Her mind was still heavy with sleep and something else.

 _Hungover_? her brain supplied.

It hurt too much to think about.  She groaned and buried her head in her pillow, the cotton was soft against her cheek and it smelled like her detergent.

Her eyes flew open again.

Familiar-ish room.  Her art on the wall.  Pillow smelled like her detergent.

 _This isn’t happening_ , she told herself sternly.   _You’re dreaming.  It’s not real._

She stared at the wall, painted the soft powder blue that it had taken her an hour standing in front of the paint display in Home Depot to pick out.  And it would have been longer if Raven hadn’t threatened to walk over to the lumber section and bring back a two-by-four to hit her in the head with.

 _Wake up, Clarke,_ she thought.   _Wake up._

Nothing happened.

She pinched herself and swore under her breath.

Carefully she turned over...and rocketed out of the bed, pulling half of the comforter with her, breathing heavily.

Most likely disturbed by the sudden movement, Bellamy cracked and eye open, radiating concern.

“Clarke?” he asked, voice low and husky with sleep.

 _Don’t think about it,_  she told herself.   _Don’t think about-_

“What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

He sat up, the remaining covers pooling around his waist.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clarke said, staring at him wide-eyed.

 

_12 Hours Earlier -_

“Drink it, babe,” Raven instructed, shoving a glass of cheap champagne into Clarke’s hand.

She spluttered.  “I--I can’t be  _drunk_  for my own art show, Rave.”

“You’re not going to be drunk,” Raven replied.

“You’re going to be  _friendly_ ,” Octavia finished, sidling up next to them.  “Because seriously, Clarke, I’ve never seen you look so tense.”  
“I’m not--”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“And you’re scaring people.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Raven agreed, looking her up and down.  “You need to relax.”  
“What I need are better friends,” Clarke muttered but she downed the flute anyway.

Raven grinned.  “Atta girl.”

Octavia offered her another.  Clarke took it grudgingly.

This continued until Clarke was good and tipsy.  She’d always handled champagne well so she was far from belligerent but that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling a bit floaty and overall good about everything.  Raven and Octavia were smirking at her from the corner.  It was a testament to how well their plan had worked that she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“So I hear my sister’s been getting you drunk,” a familiar deep voice said next to her elbow.

Clarke jumped about a mile and pressed a hand over her thundering heart.  “ _Jesus, Bell,_ ” she said.  “You can’t just sneak up on me like that!”

He grinned, cheeks tinged a bit pink and it felt like the breath had been knocked out of her.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “I bought you flowers.  They’re in a vase in the kitchen at home.”

Clarke’s heart was thundering again, but for an entirely different reason than before.

“You would,” she said sarcastically.  But she meant it.  Because he would.  Because he was Bellamy.

His cheeks reddened even more and he looked away.  “I had a meeting to go to.  I couldn’t skip it or I would have been here earlier, I promise--”  
“Bellamy, it’s  _fine_.”

“Are you sure?” he asked shyly.

Her heart squeezed.

“Totally.  Also for the record, I’m not drunk.  I’m  _tipsy_.”

He chuckled.  “Okay, princess.”

“I am!”

“Whatever you say,” he said, grinning.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asked, voice low.

She surveyed the crowd, larger than she’d been expecting, and clearly engaged with her art.  “No,” she said finally.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still grateful.”  She turned to him to see if he understood.

He nodded.  “Now go sell some art.”

“Is that your idea of a pep talk?”

“I didn’t know I needed one.  Next time give me some warning.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Will do!  And make sure you bring pom poms.”

“And a cheerleader skirt?” he asked around a wide grin.

Clarke returned it.  “Whatever floats your boat, Blake.”

His eyes sparkled and Clarke turned, diving into the crowd so she wouldn’t be tempted to walk up to him and kiss that smile right off his face.

Clarke walked away from her first major solo show having sold two-thirds of her pieces.  Her bank account was looking better than it had in years and even without the champagne, she’d have been flying high.

It definitely was the champagne though, that had her feeling gutsy when they got back to the apartment.  As Bellamy changed out of the khakis and button down he taught in, Clarke rummaged through her sparse liquor cabinet, eventually coming up successful with a mostly full bottle of peppermint bark flavored vodka.

“What in God’s name is that?” Bellamy demanded when she put it on the coffee table.

“The fullest bottle of liquor I have,” she replied, cracking it open and handing him a shot glass.  “Trust me once you’ve had enough of it you don’t even notice how awful it tastes.”  She brandished the bottle in his direction.  “Come on.”

He sighed and held out the glass.  “All right, fine.  Are we just drinking shitty vodka?”

“No,” Clarke said patiently, pouring herself a drink.  “We’re going to play drunk Go Fish.”

He stared at her.  “What are you, six?”

“It’s either that or strip poker,” she shot back.  “And I don’t think either of us want that.”

 _Liar_ , a voice whispered in the back of her mind.  Clarke ignored it.

Bellamy didn’t argue.  He just downed the shot, winced, and held out the cup for another.  Clarke grinned.

“Do you have any eight’s?” Clarke slurred later, leaning forward.

Bellamy was concentrating hard on his cards.  “I’m not sure,” he said finally, “I can’t tell.”  He squinted, cocked his head to the side.

“You,” she said, poking him, “are a liar.”

“Am not!”  
“You are.  You handle your liquor better than that!”

He looked up at her, eyes suddenly clear.  “So do you, princess,” he said, voice steady.

Clarke rocketed to her feet, pointing angrily at him.  “ _You dirty rotten cheater!_   I can’t believe you!”

“And no,” he said calmly, “I don’t have any eight’s.”

Clarke gaped.  “I don’t believe it,” she repeated, sitting down and taking a shot.

“You know, princess,” he said after a pause, still considering his own cards.  “You’re pretty hot when you’re angry.”

They seemed to realize what he’d said at the same time.  Bellamy’s eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them and there was horror written across his face.

Though her brain might have been dampened slightly by the champagne from earlier and her multiple shots of vodka, Clarke was still thinking clear-ish.  She stared at him.  He stared back, horror melting away into confusion.

Mind made up, she surged forward, fisting a hand in the collar of his shirt, almost throwing herself on top of him as she pressed her lips to his.  For a long moment his body was frozen still, wooden and hard, hands open at his sides.  Then in one smooth motion, he relented.  His hands swung up into her hair and to her back, his mouth opened under hers, and Clarke melted.

Bellamy pulled away and Clarke groaned, reaching out for him blindly.  Bellamy chuckled.

“Wait.”

Clarke froze.  “What?” she asked, “are you okay, is this--”

“Is this what you want, Clarke?”

She stared at him.  “What?  Yes, of course.”

Bellamy grinned.  “Good.”

He kissed her again and Clarke stopped thinking entirely.

 

“So what exactly happened last night?” Clarke asked, warming her hands on her mug of coffee.

Bellamy, still shirtless, damn him, leaned against the counter, arms crossed.  “I don’t think you need me to answer that question, Clarke.”  His voice was guarded, wary.

Clarke swallowed.  “Well, then what do we do about it?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you regret that it ever happened.”

“You mean you don’t?”

“Of course not,” he said softly.  “Clarke, I really really like you.  Okay?”

“But you’re leaving.  This was only temporary.”

He shook his head.  “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, reaching out to steady herself.

“I quit two weeks ago,” he said nonchalantly as if he was telling her the weather report.

“But what about your job?”

“I got another one.  Here.  At the university.  I got a full-time professorship.  They’re paying me more, too.  And I get to stay here, close to Octavia.  And....well, and you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clarke,” he said carefully.  “I know I haven’t been here for very long and in the scheme of things this is really no time at all to be feeling these things and especially to be telling them to you but...I care about you.  So much.”

“You’re not just staying for me, are you?  Because I don’t want to be that couple, Bell.”

A careful smile split across his face at the mention of the word couple.  “No, I’m not just staying for you.  I mean, you’re a part of it.  And a big one.  But it’s also O.  I missed her when I was on the other side of the country.  I wasn’t the kind of brother that I wanted to be.”

She took a faltering step towards him.  “So you’re staying?  For sure?”

“For sure,” he repeated.

“Wow.”  
He laughed.  “I know.”

“You know, you don’t have to move out either, if you don’t want,” she said carefully.

“No?”

“No.”  She paused, looking down at her feet, still edging their way closer to him.  “But maybe...you could switch rooms?”  She looked up.

“I think I’d like that.”

Grinning, she leaned up to kiss him.  “Good.”

“Yeah,” he repeated.  “Good.”

She was smiling so hard her face hurt.  “Your sister is going to be a nightmare.”

“That’s all right. I think we can take her.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, I know I am.”  He kissed her again.  His lips tasted like a promise.

“You know,” he said later.  “It was always you, Clarke.  You’re the real reason this place started to feel like home.”

She bit her lip.  “It was always you for me, too, Bell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


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